


All The Ways To Wound My Heart

by LVB



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Lies, Ron!whump, Swearing, dragons oh my, past Harry/Hermione, perceived infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1257181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LVB/pseuds/LVB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an Auror hazing prank goes horribly wrong, Ron Weasley discovers his worst nightmare is true. As his family rally behind him, can he learn to forgive Harry and Hermione? Brief past H/Hr, R/Hr and background H/G. Epilogue compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Never Would I Have Guessed

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: JKR, WB, Scholastic etc are hosting the party; I’m just the gal bringing dip.
> 
> Warnings: perceived infidelity, past Harry/Hermione and lots of swearing

**Chapter One: Never Would I Have Guessed**

Becoming an Auror was always on the cards for Ron Weasley. Sure, most people assumed that he was just going to follow in Harry’s footsteps because, that’s just what Ron Weasley did, wasn’t it? Ron liked to think that he had become bigger than that sort of idiotic reasoning. He was an adult now. He did his own washing, cooked his own meals and managed to sort himself out quick enough in the mornings to get to work on time...with Hermione’s help, of course.  Not only was he now a qualified Auror (record time too!), he also put in his fair share of work at George’s shop. 

Adult or not though, Ron felt that on some days (most days) people looked at him like he had a horns sticking out of his head. He wasn’t stupid—he had heard most of the theories floating around the Auror office and most of the Ministry in fact that he had floated in to the Auror program on the back of the Boy-Who-Lived. Many of them took that a bit too literally and he was quite sick of hearing gay jokes from all the gits over in Magical Law Enforcement. Sighing and preparing for another day of thinly veiled jibes, Ron banished his thick coat to the rack and took his seat at his cluttered desk. He glanced at the clock that peered over to confirm that Harry wasn’t at his desk. Feeling smug that for once he had _finally_ beaten Harry to work, Ron took a moment to lean back into his chair and ignore the immensely growing pile of paperwork. 

“All right there, Ron?” 

Ron nearly fell off his chair as Harry’s voice interrupted his attempt at ignoring his desk duties. Turning around, Ron’s cheery disposition fell as he realised Harry had beaten him to work, yet again. “What the bloody hell are you doing here so early? You’re making the rest of us look like lazy wankers!” 

Harry shrugged and pushed Ron’s chair in so he could pass. “When Ginny’s away I can hardly sleep. What’s your excuse? I know for a fact Hermione’s an early riser. Why can’t she get your pale arse out of bed in the mornings?” 

“Seems the witch has an affinity for my pale arse, as you so kindly put it,” Ron replied, fighting back a laugh as Harry turned visibly red. 

“You’re both disgusting,” 

“I’m sure what you meant to say was charming.”

“Are you two bickering like life-long lovers again?” Ron and Harry both turned to find Quentin Giblorn, their squad leader grinning with two cups of steaming coffee in his hands. 

“Piss off, Giblorn,” snarked Ron, while eyeing off Quentin’s coffee. “Who’s the coffee for?”

“Shouldn’t you be a bit more respectful to your superiors, Weasley? I would have thought a quick shag from the missus would have set you in right spirits this morning!” 

Ron’s middle finger shot up before Quentin had even finished speaking. 

“Anyway, this fine beverage is going to be for whoever can give me their report on Adrian Pucey’s capture and interrogation...”

Before Ron even had the opportunity to remember if he had even started his report, Harry had summoned his report and dumped it on Quentin’s desk. With a smirk and a wink, Harry snatched the spare coffee and took a long drink, sitting back down on his desk. 

“Brilliant!” boomed Quentin as he followed suit, taking a long drink and staring at Ron. 

“Yeah yeah, I get the picture. Come in early, get your reports done, be a wanker and get the bloody coffee.  So are we going out in the field today?” he asked eagerly. Since the interrogation of Adrian Pucey two days ago, things had been very quiet in the Auror office. Only standard missions were running and the days had been filled with catching up on very boring paperwork. 

“Negatory Weasley. Field’s been pretty quiet. Even our good friend Lucius Malfoy has been behaving like an upstanding admirable citizen. Barden swore that he even saw him say hello to a Muggle-born in Diagon Alley last week.  Bloke’s gone mad.” 

As Ron took a second to cope with the thought of yet another dreary day doing paperwork at the office, the rest of their squad arrived from the cafeteria. “Potter, Weasley,” acknowledged Chaser King, their squad’s second-in-command. Named for his parents’ obvious love of Quidditch, Chaser had worked extra hard at his job and projected an air of authority, mainly so nobody would even consider for the briefest of moments, taking the piss out of his name. He was followed by Roger Burke, who had been in Percy’s year in Hufflepuff and Benjamin “Beef” Barden, who had been one of the few decent Slytherins either Ron or Harry had ever known. 

“Oi Giblorn, Henrietta said you nicked off with my special order of coffee,” complained Roger. “The one with the red quill marks on it.” 

Quentin checked his own cup and shook his head. “Must be Potter’s. Got a problem with it, take it up with him.” Ron grinned as everyone’s eyes went to Harry who just shrugged and took another sip. “Your special blend is delicious, Roger. Mind telling Henrietta to make me this blend every time I pay her a visit in the cafeteria?” 

Suddenly, the all three of their squad-mates began laughing hysterically. “You’re both idiots. That cup of coffee you’re drinking from, Potter, has been dosed with Veritaserum!” Harry’s eyes went wide and he dropped the coffee cup all over his freshly laundered Auror robes, prompting more laughter, with Quentin and Ron joining in. 

“So Potter, how does that feel?” 

“Fucking hot,” Harry automatically answered. 

“If Robards finds out, you’re all dead,” warned Quentin as he pulled up a chair in front of Harry. “So no reason for Robards to find out then, eh? What do you think of Robards’ tie this morning, Potter?”

“Hideously ugly. Ties shouldn’t be worn with Auror robes, Sir. They don’t match at all. I read that in _Witch Weekly_.” 

“You’re screwed mate,” Ron laughed as he pulled his chair closer. The other squad members had sat on the empty, surrounding desks. “Who were you going to give Veritaserum to?”

“We were going to take it down to the Potions lab and see if it could be detected either by taste or smell,” replied Chaser, picking up the empty cup from the bottom of Harry’s desk. “Not exactly the most approved methods of tricking suspects but we thought we could give it a shot pitching it to Robards, if we proved it worked. Reckon Harry’s done well as our first test subject.”

“Hmm, could you taste the difference Potter?” enquired Quentin. 

“Not at all Sir.”

“All right, all right, my turn for some fun,” Beef said and pushed Roger out of the way. “Oi Potter, have you ever worn ladies knickers?” 

Harry was beginning to turn an interesting shade of red. “No,” 

“But have you ever thought about it?” prompted Ron. 

“Yes, when Ginny left a pair of her red boylegs at my place. They looked uncomfortable and wondered what she saw in them,” Harry replied diligently. 

“Reckon you won’t be asking any more questions after that answer, eh Weasley!” chortled Roger and slapped his leg, clearly enjoying both Ron and Harry’s discomfort. “Might want to block your ears, I bet I know what Beef is gonna ask next!” 

Harry’s eyes widened. “Er, you don’t mean...”

Chaser nodded. “I’ve always been curious too, Potter. Being a celebrity sure would have its perks, don’t you reckon?” 

Harry shook his head vehemently. “Guys, this has been really uncomfortable and awkward and all, but do you think we could just leave it here?” Ron could have sworn there was a note of desperate pleading in his voice. Ron had known Harry a long time and when he was uncomfortable, tiny beads of sweat would form on his brow. Now was one of those times. 

“Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. With you being such a great celebrity and all, I’ve always wondered...just how many birds have you managed to shag over the years?” Beef asked and everyone but Ron leaned in to listen to the answer. 

Ron just rolled his eyes, expecting to know exactly what the answer was, however much he didn’t like it. Harry had shagged, was shagging and would continue to shag his little sister. Sticking his fingers in his ears and humming the tune to “Mad Muggles Are Going to Steal my Boots” wasn’t going to help the situation but he certainly didn’t want to hear any details. 

Harry’s skin suddenly turned an eerie shade of grey and Ron thought it looked like he was trying to fight off the effects of the Veritaserum. Harry turned his head away from Ron, with one last look of pleading and defeat in his eyes. 

“Two,” he whispered. 

The rest of the squad groaned, including Quentin. “I thought it was going to be something good,” lamented Roger. “You went all quiet and secretive there for a moment.” 

“What do you mean two?” Ron suddenly asked, after letting the information sink in for a brief second. In a split second, all of the attention was on him. Harry shook his head in response. “Ron, don’t. Please. Just...don’t,” he begged. 

“Fucking hell, Potter, have you cheated on my sister?” Ron yelled, standing up from his chair, his face and ears turning a bright shade of red. Quentin and Beef stepped in front of Ron, while Chaser and Roger simply looked on in amazement. 

“No,” said Harry firmly but remained in his seat. 

“All right, that’s enough,” commanded Quentin. “Potter, go somewhere else. Somewhere far away from here until that shit is out of your system. King, take Potter.” Chaser stood but Ron shook off Beef’s grip on his arm. 

“Well then who the bloody hell was it?” Ron asked, his tone softening. “Who was the other woman?” Ron knew he was being irrational. Harry had sworn under Veritaserum that he hadn’t cheated on Ginny and that should have been good enough. Harry and Ginny had gotten back together only four months after the War had ended. So whoever this other woman was would have had to have been around during that time, before Harry and Ginny had been together or when Harry and Ginny had broken up, around the time they had left for the Horcrux hunt. Call him crazy but Ron was desperate to know who had been so special or so crap that his best mate hadn’t even told him that he had shagged her. 

Harry took on that look he had sported earlier, clearly trying desperately to fight off the Veritaserum. Harry visibly fought the potion’s effect on moving his mouth. His face now white as a sheet, silently pleaded with everyone around and Ron certainly had seen that look before. Harry bowed his head, as to not look Ron directly in the eyes. Beef loosened his grip and during the few seconds Harry had struggled, Quentin had moved slightly to the left, out of the way. 

“Hermione,” Harry whispered. “It was Hermione.” 

The room went deathly quiet. “What did you just say?” Ron said, feeling like all the blood was slowing draining away from his body. 

“Hermione,” Harry repeated, bringing his eyes up to meet Ron’s.  Ron felt as if he had been punched in the guts. His head swam with the image of Hermione, _his_ Hermione. He saw Hermione laughing, Hermione holding his hand as they walked through Hogsmeade; and then abruptly the images changed. Hermione was touching Harry, running her hands through his black hair. He saw Harry’s hands run down Hermione’s beautiful legs, stopping at that ticklish spot on her knees that only _he_ was supposed to know about. He saw the Horcrux spring forth from the locket and recalled Harry telling him, ‘ _she’s like my sister’_.

“Ron, I’m so sorry...”

Beef and Quentin held his arms while Chaser and Roger had their wands drawn in front of Harry. “Calm down Ron, it’s not worth it,” warned Chaser as Harry clutched his own wand. 

“SORRY? You’re fucking sorry?!” screamed Ron, fighting against his captors, desperately wishing he had grabbed his wand. “You fucked my girlfriend, you fucked _Hermione_ AND YOU’RE FUCKING SORRY?!” 

“Just hear me out, Ron, I can explain...”

“What the fuck are you going to explain, Harry?! How the _fuck_ do you explain this!” Ron roared, making Beef and Quentin cringe. 

“Better get out of here, Potter,” hissed Quentin. The entire department, plus more were now watching, unable to tear their eyes away. “Get the fuck out of here Potter, NOW, before Weasley does something he will regret.” 

Harry shook his head. “No, I don’t want to go. I want to explain. Please Ron, if you would just listen to me...”

Ron summoned all his might and tore out of Beef and Quentin’s grips and using his Auror stealth, bowled past Roger and Chaser and punched Harry in the face, breaking his glasses in the process. 

“You fucking areshole,” hissed Ron as Beef shouted “ _Stupefy_!” simultaneously. Ron went flying across the room and landed against the bookshelves next to Robards’ office.  Harry grabbed his wand and wrestled out of Chaser’s grip, running towards Ron. Harry’s nose was bleeding uncontrollably. “Someone get the Medi-Witch on the third floor!” hollered Beef as he attempted to push Harry away from his target. 

Disturbed by the commotion, Robards pushed open the door to his office, taking in the scene in front of him. “ _Ennervate_ ,” he hissed at Ron. “Potter, Weasley, my office NOW.” 

Ron stood shakily, trying to counter the effects of the Stunner. “Fuck you,” he shouted at both Harry and Robards. He grabbed his wand, which had fallen beside him and tore out of the office, pushing past the small audience that had gathered in their department. 

“Bloody hell,” whispered Roger as he surveyed the scene in front of him. Resigned, Harry went into Robards’ office. 

 


	2. I can't see a way past to love you and hurt

**Chapter Two: I Can’t See Past a Way to Love You and Hurt**

As soon as Ron left his department, he charged to the Ministry’s Floo system. A million thoughts ran through his head as he pushed through all the employees who would surely hear about the fight and the reason _for_ the fight. Ron didn’t regret punching Harry one bit. Ron had always played second to Harry since they had met that fateful day at King’s Cross Station.  Ron was always the sidekick, the one who wanted to follow the Chosen One to the ends of the Earth and then some. After the Horcrux incident, Ron had felt all his troubles regarding Hermione simply lift away. Hermione was the one thing Harry couldn’t touch and the one thing in the world that was Ron’s and _only_ Ron’s. He had even managed to ruin that for him. 

How would he be able to face Hermione, knowing what she had done? When had it happened? Why had it happened? Why hadn’t Hermione told him? Both she and Harry had lied to him; lied to his face over and over again. Harry had confessed under Veritaserum that he hadn’t cheated on Ginny so the window of opportunity had to have been very specific. Ron was trying to focus on his anger at both Harry and Hermione because if, for one second he stopped, his hurt and anguish might just stop his heart from beating all together. 

As he zoomed through the Floo network, Ron felt his emotions rearrange themselves as much as his body was. In the few moments it took to go from the Ministry to the flat, Ron went from angry, to hurt, to betrayed, to angry again, to devastated, to mildly curious and back to angry. He took a second to consider the irony of his warring emotions; only mere years ago Hermione had accused him of having the emotional range of a teaspoon. She wouldn’t accuse him of that ever again, after today. 

Ron knew Hermione would still be at home. She had the day off save a lunch-time meeting with a proprietor of Wolfsbane and it was barely half-nine. As he came through their fireplace, the ash and soot fixed on his face. His coughing and spluttering brought Hermione out from the kitchen, ready with her cup of tea. 

“Ron? What are you doing home so early?” she asked, making her way over to him. 

He brushed off the last of the ash and soot off himself. 

“When did you fuck Harry?” 

Hermione dropped her cup of tea. Ron tried not to wince as the sound of the cup smashing onto the floor grated on him. _How fitting_ , he thought. _The cup has smashed into tiny shards, unable to be put back together_. 

“W-what?” she asked, her fingers trembling. Ron tried to concentrate on his anger, the betrayal he felt and ignore the way Hermione’s face fell and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. If only he had thought to ask this question, months or even years ago. Maybe she would have done the same job at lying as she was doing now. He always knew Hermione was a crap liar, especially to him. How could she have kept something like this, something so big, from him, for all this time? 

“You heard me, Hermione. When did you shag Harry?” 

“I’ve never, no...”

“Stop trying to bullshit me, Hermione. Harry told me this morning.”

She went to move closer to him, but he was quicker. He stepped back quickly. “He told you that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yes, the bloody arsehole had no choice, did he? Some git spiked his coffee with Veritaserum. And me, the fucking idiot, couldn’t leave well enough alone.” 

“Ron, please you have to listen to me...”

“Alright, Hermione, talk. Because I’m listening. I’m listening really hard to see what possible excuse you had for FUCKING my BEST FRIEND!” Ron roared, sending the delicate ornaments Hermione’s parents had given them smashing onto the group to join the remnants of Hermione’s tea cup. 

“I didn’t cheat on you Ron, you have to believe me,” she pleaded, trying once again to move closer to him, to touch him.

 Ron shook his head. “I’m not sure what to believe anymore, Hermione. I couldn’t believe that both you and Harry would lie to me but it seems you’re both more than capable of doing that.”

“I didn’t cheat Ron! I love you, I would never do that!” Hermione said, the tears now freely falling down her face. Ron hated to see Hermione cry. It tore him up inside and after the War, he had promised he would never again be the cause of her tears. It even bothered him now, after everything that had happened that he had broken his promise to her and to himself. 

They were interrupted by the sight of Harry’s form Apparating into the living room. The wards had been adjusted to let only very few people Apparate straight into their home and Ron was disgusted by the thought of having to change Harry’s privileges. 

“Ron, please...”

“What the fuck are you doing here?! Get the hell out!” Ron screamed at Harry who had raised his wand in defence. 

“Ron!”

“Siding with him again are you?” Ron hissed to Hermione who looked physically wounded by his comment. 

“I bet you two had a right laugh about it. Stupid Ron will never find out, eh? Didn’t expect this to happen, did you? Thought you had your lies all sorted!”

“I wanted to tell you, Ron. I begged him but he made me promise!” Hermione screeched, still trying to get closer to him. 

“What the fuck do you owe him, Hermione? Over me?” 

“Don’t yell at her, I asked her not to tell you,” Harry intervened, quietly. Just as Ron was about to throw a hex his way, Harry abruptly shouted “ _Protego_!”

“You spineless git,” Ron continued. “Nobody has answered me yet! When did this happen?” 

Glaring at Harry, Hermione placed her own wand on the table as a sign of peace. She was positive Ron wouldn’t try and hex her. “It was when you had left, during the Horcrux hunt.” 

Ron felt the air in the room all but disappear. He struggled to stand and nearly collapsed onto the couch. Hermione, desperate to touch him, was quickly at his side. Harry remained standing, his wand still out.  He was a fucking arsehole, but at least he was smart. 

“You and Harry had sex when I left,” he asked, his voice now down to a bare whisper. Hermione nodded in response. 

“Ron, it was nothing, it was just a stupid mistake,” Hermione started but was silence by Ron’s hand. 

“How can you say it was nothing, Hermione? You had _sex_ with Harry. You had sex with Harry before you even had sex with _me_ ,” he stressed. He pushed the thoughts of his clumsy first time with Lavender Brown during his sixth year to the back of his mind. At least he had told Hermione about it and not lied to her.

“I’m so sorry, Ron. If I could take it back, I would. Both of us would. It was a mistake and it meant nothing.”

“Am I going to be punished forever for leaving you?” Ron asked, now turning his attention toward Harry. “For what that bloody Horcrux did to me? Did you do this to punish me because in one of my darkest and weakest moments, my judgement lapsed and I left the woman I loved and my best friend?”

“No, it wasn’t to punish you Ron,” Harry answered. Hermione was sitting next to Ron, clutching his hand like her life depended on it. It was ironic, considering it probably did. 

“You looked me in the eyes Harry. You looked me in the eyes and told me to my face that there was nothing between the two of you. You told me she was like a sister. Blokes don’t just go around fucking their sisters. Fucking my sister wasn’t bad enough but you had to take Hermione from me as well?” 

Harry had no response. 

“Does Ginny know?” Ron asked, all emotion having left his voice and his face. 

Hermione’s eyes focused on Harry. 

“Yes, she knows. I told her about three hours after the Battle of Hogwarts.” 

“Then why didn’t anyone see fit to tell me? Bloody hell, Hermione, three hours after the Battle of Hogwarts, you are I were...”

Suddenly Ron felt sick. That night he had thought he and Hermione were doing something special. It had been about survival, about solace and above all, about love. He would remember that night for the rest of his life, the good and the bad parts of it. Not anymore though—Harry had Hermione first. 

Hermione knew exactly what Ron was thinking in that moment. He could see the anguish and the sorrow on her face. 

“Merlin, Hermione, I...”

Ron couldn’t finish his sentence. He couldn’t even look at Hermione or Harry for that matter. 

“I’m sorry Ron. I’m so sorry,” Hermione cried, her tears beginning to soak his clothes. 

“I have to go, I...I’m sorry, but I can’t. I just can’t...” Ron said, standing up and backing away from both of them. 

“Go? No, Ron, please!” Hermione begged. He hated to see her this way but he knew that he couldn’t stay, not right now at least. 

“Tell me how to fix this Ron,” pleaded Harry, who had lowered his wand. “Don’t leave. We can all sort this out, yeah? Let’s talk about it.” 

Ron shook his head. “I can’t Harry. Whenever I look at her, look at the both of you, it’s all I can see.” 

“You promised you’d never leave me, Ron. Don’t break that promise. Stay, please, we’ll talk about this. We can get past this, I know we can. I love you Ron, don’t leave me!” Ron was taken back to that moment in the tent. He had ignored Hermione’s desperate pleas once before. It had probably gotten him into this mess in the first place. He didn’t want to leave her, not again. He had promised her that and until this moment, he had always intended to keep that promise. That was before images of the woman he loved making love to another man infiltrated his every thought. 

“I’ll uh, let you know that I’m okay, Hermione. I love you too, I just...I just need to get out of here,” he said, planting a soft kiss on her forehead and fought off the images of the pair of them before he vomited.

He glared at Harry. “When I go you’ll say goodbye to Hermione, Harry. Make sure she’s okay but then you fucking leave. You don’t Floo her, you don’t owl her, you don’t Apparate over here, and you don’t send her interdepartmental memos. You fucking leave and you don’t come back.” 

And with a final look at Hermione’s tearful face, Ron Disapparated. 

 


	3. I feel for you, but these sorrows I drown for myself

**Chapter Three:  I feel for you, but these sorrows I drown for myself**

The only place Ron could think of to go to was his and George’s shop, so he ended up Apparating onto the corner of the street. The shop had very strong wards. _I should know, I set them myself_ , he thought wryly.  By now, the intense anger that had consumed him only moments before was beginning to settle in the absence of Harry. Guilt about leaving Hermione the way he did was slowly starting to manifest but not nearly enough to convince Ron to go back. Ron hadn’t thought to grab a coat and he was still wearing his Auror robes. If there was any time Ron hated wearing the formal attire the most, it was now. He was already recognisable as it was—Weasley red hair, famous war hero, Order of Merlin First-Class on a Chocolate Frog card. But if anyone had a sliver of doubt as to who he was, walking down Diagon Alley, the Auror robes just confirmed it. 

Ron wasn’t sure if anyone had talked to the press about the morning’s disaster at the Ministry yet, so he held his wand tight against his chest and kept his head down. “Ronald Weasley!” shouted a voice Ron could have gone his whole life without hearing again. Rita Skeeter. He didn’t even turn as he heard the rapid _click-click_ of her overpriced, oversized heels against the pavement.

“Piss off, Skeeter,” he snapped and continued working. This did nothing to dissuade her, as it rarely did. Her Quick-Quotes Quill and parchment were at the ready, following their evil master as she tailed him. 

“Can you confirm, Mr Weasley, that at approximately nine-fifteen this morning, an argument between yourself and Auror, Boy-Who-Lived Harry Potter broke out in the middle of the Auror department, resulting in a jinx being thrown at Harry Potter that melted his nose off?”

Ron had no idea where Rita was receiving her information from.  There might’ve been a mole in the office but at least she wasn’t getting her facts entirely straight. Normally he would have laughed at her in the same way he laughed off Luna Lovegood’s interesting ‘theories’ but today was not a day that was going to happen. 

“No comment! I thought I told you to bugger off!” 

“Furthermore, after investigating the flat yourself and one Hermione Granger share in London, Harry Potter himself was photographed leaving the flat only five minutes ago. Tell me, is this a cause for concern that while you have left the lovely Miss Granger at home alone that Harry Potter himself is visiting her, presumably during working hours? Are you worried at all, Mr Weasley?” 

Ron knew that whatever had happened between Harry and Hermione in the past, Harry wouldn’t dare lay a finger on her now, especially not after having his nose broken.  As Ron tried to ignore Rita, a small crowd had started to follow them, wondering what all the fuss was about. 

“Oh look, it’s Ron Weasley!” he heard people whisper. “Doesn’t he look handsome in his Auror robes? Where’s his girlfriend, that Muggle-born?” 

As Ron finally reached the doors of the shop, George peeked out of the door. “I see you’ve got yourself a little problem, Ronniekins!”

Ron nodded and mouthed ‘Help Me’. With a wink, George stood out the front of the store, alongside Ron, with a look of absolute shock and amazement on his face. “BLOODY HELL!” he shouted and pointed across the road. “Is that Oliver Wood and Victor Krum snogging on the other side of the road?!” 

As everyone, including Rita, turned to look, George quickly pulled him inside the shop and with a flick of his wand, and locked the front door with a giant sign reading “Unlucky for you, WWW is CLOSED!” hanging on the window. George laughed at he saw Rita Skeeter banging on the window and trying to unlock the door using _Alohomora_. 

“That bitch is crazy,” muttered Ron, once again glad that he himself had put up the wards. 

“Lucky for you, Ron, that my devilishly good looks have scared the customers away this morning. Not a soul in here until you and your entourage came banging around the front!” 

Ron didn’t say anything and made his way silently to the back room of the shop with George following close behind. 

“Where’s your Firewhiskey?” Ron asked, remembering how George, trying to cope with Fred’s death had constantly kept the alcohol close by, even at work. 

George shook his head in response. “Not a drop in here, Ron. When I told you I was sober, I meant it. What the hell is going on with you? Why was Skeeter trying to stampede you?” Ron sat on his chair and even ignored the whoopee-cushion charm George had permanently placed on it as he sunk down and leant back, staring at the wall. 

“Harry had sex with Hermione.” 

To his credit, George didn’t scowl, yell or smash anything. He didn’t try to dispute it or talk Ron out of it, ask if he knew when, ask about any sordid details or do the big brother thing and kill Harry for hurting his baby sister and obviously, his baby brother too. He simply took Ron’s arm and Apparated them out of the shop. 

\--

Ron had always hated Side-Along, especially since it was normally Harry or Hermione doing the Apparating. Instead of swearing at George for an awful journey that nearly splinched his bollocks off, he stared at the destination. The Leaky Cauldron. 

“Bloody hell, George, it’s not even ten o’clock yet!” 

George simply shrugged and opened the door and motioned for Ron to follow. In no position to argue, Ron did follow. They arrived at the counter and George thumped on the table to get Hannah Abbott’s attention. 

“Three Firewhiskeys, Hannah.” 

Hannah looked over and Ron could see the surprised look etched on her face. She didn’t comment however, and sent the three Firewhiskeys down the bar. George picked them up and took them to a table, slamming them down, causing all three of the drinks to spill onto the table. Ron picked one up and drank it all in one gulp, somewhat enjoying the way his throat burned. 

“Are you going to have one, mate?” Ron asked, his voice hoarse from the drink, as he picked up the second glass. 

“I told you, I’m sober now Ron. Your situation, as fucked up as it is, isn’t enough to make me want to drink myself into a stupor again. I must say, I’m quite happy to sit here with my baby brother and watch him drink so much he vomits on himself though.”

Through the burning, the pain and the slowly yielding anger, Ron still felt proud of George. He then thought about the irony that, had the situation been any different, Ron would be sitting here drinking with Harry at ten o’clock in the morning on a work day. The thought depressed Ron enough to take another long drink of his second Firewhiskey. 

“So, do you want to y’know, talk about it?” George asked. 

“Not one bit, mate,” 

“Good because I think I’ve had enough of grown men sobbing and talking about their feelings like darling little Muggle princesses. Fuck them both. Did you see the Cannons actually won a game last week? Fucking incredible!” 

Before Ron could open his mouth to reply, Robards’ Patronus came leaping in through the window. The frog sat on the table in front of Ron before Robards’ voice came booming out of it. “Weasley, you are hereby suspended from active duty until next Monday. You and Potter sort yourselves out before then and I’ll see you in my office eight-thirty on Monday morning. I mean it, Weasley, any more shit like that and I’ll kick you out on your freckled arse, for good.” 

“Charming bloke,” George commented dryly. 

“Can’t blame him,” Ron replied, slamming down his second glass and picking up the third, despite his burning throat. “I did cause a bit of a scene at work this morning. Punched Harry right in his ugly face. Broke his Chosen Glasses too, bloody four-eyed prick.” 

Not really paying attention, Ron faintly heard the door to the pub open. He heard her before he saw her and George grinned with realisation. 

“There you are you stupid git!” said Ginny still clad in her Holyhead Harpies training gear. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Aren’t you supposed to be off somewhere claiming you’re not a lesbian even though you and the rest of your teammates have very tops-optional pillow fights?” asked George, who promptly laughed at his own joke. Ginny flipped him off and snatched the glass of Firewhiskey away from Ron. 

“Harry sent me his Patronus telling me what happened,” she said gently. Ron didn’t respond but smacked his head down onto the table. “I told Gwenog that one of my brothers had a witch hex his bollocks off and was at St. Mungo’s. Luckily, we’re in the papers so much she actually believed it.” 

“Which brother?” George asked.

 Ginny grinned. “You of course!” she answered happily. 

“Go away Ginny,” Ron mumbled from the table. 

“Come on, Ron. I’m in the unique position of having actually already been through what you must be feeling right now. Think it’s a bit like having someone belt a few bludgers into your guts, am I right?” 

Ron mumbled an incoherent response.

 “I went to Harry’s and then Hermione’s before I came here. Hermione, she’s....well, she’s not doing very well. Neither is Harry for that matter. They’re both an absolute mess.” 

At this, Ron raised his head, unable to hide his red eyes. “Well bully for them, Ginny. Forgive me if I don’t particularly give a pygmy’s arse about what your sodding boyfriend is doing. I don’t even particularly want to talk to you either. You’re not exactly on the top of the ‘Most Truthful’ list either.” 

Ginny at least had the decency to look apologetic but then she launched right back into her typical stubborn attitude. “Right, and you are the epitome of truth and honour, you git? I had my reasons.”

George opened his mouth to get involved but was interrupted by Ron’s loud groan. “Look, I’m not in the mood to have a bloody argument with you too. Either bugger off or sit down.”

Ginny suppressed a smile and sat in the seat George had pulled out for her. She sighed and continued her tirade.

“Hermione has already tried looking for you. She’s been to the Ministry, where everyone was apparently staring at her like she smelt like a Hippogriff’s arse.” His Hermione certainly did have a way with words. “She’s been to the Burrow and nearly sent Mum into a right panic attack when she said she couldn’t find you. She was just at the shop. Reckon she probably only just missed you.”

“Probably,” Ron mumbled in response. 

“I convinced them both not to bother looking for you,” Ginny said as she finally pulled up a chair and joined her brothers. “Well, convinced, loudly shouted and threatened dismemberment.” 

“Ginevra Weasley, I’m ever-so-proud of you!” mocked George in a distinct Molly-esque tone. Ginny took the Firewhiskey she had snatched from Ron and downed it all in one gulp, as he had done earlier. George looked on, clearly impressed. 

“Oi Hannah, can you just bring the bottle over?” shouted George. “Who taught you to drink like that Ginny? Now I can say I’m really impressed. Those butch Quidditch players must be having a good influence on you.” 

Ron remained silent during their exchange. He vaguely heard Ginny retort and his two siblings start to bicker. How could Ginny be so cavalier about the whole thing? Her best friend and her boyfriend had shagged too—why was he the only one who was clearly suffering? 

As Ginny and George began to argue about whether or not Ginny knew of any lesbians on the team, Ron took a moment to really _look_ at his baby sister. Her hair was tied back and he could see, plainly on her face, the fact that she too, had aged before her time because of You-Know-Who. She was a star Chaser for a semi-famous Quidditch team, she lived out of home and she too had had her heart smashed into a million pieces. When only seconds ago he had wondered how, _just how_ she was able to go about her daily life and be with Harry and not think Harry and Hermione for every second of every day. Ginny wasn’t his baby sister anymore and she had grown up right under his nose. 

Hannah finally placed a bottle of Firewhiskey on the table and shook her head when George attempted to offer her a Galleon. “Looks like you need it,” she said kindly. 

After Hannah left, the three siblings sat in silence. “Well, I need to get back to the shop before the whole of Diagon Alley attempts to get past the wards to see my beautiful, charming face. You’re in good hands Ron. You can stay at the flat tonight, yeah? Doubt you want to go home and face Mum.” 

“Er, thanks George,” 

George gently squeezed both Ron and Ginny’s shoulders and left the pub. Ginny set about pouring two more glasses of Firewhiskey. “Did you really threaten to dismember Harry?” Ron asked curiously. Ginny nodded as she took only a sip of her drink. “Not the first time it’s happened. He thinks I’m barking most of the time but he knows me well enough to be at least a little frightened.”

“What the fuck Ginny. How the fuck? I mean, Harry....and Hermione,” Ron said, ignoring the glass and drinking straight from the bottle. The burn had faded and Ron desperately needed to feel it again. Ginny took another drink, this time finished it whole. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ron implored. He felt hot tears begin to form in his eyes. He had only ever cried in front of Ginny at Fred’s funeral and he didn’t exactly want to break down in front of her now, of all times. He was supposed to be the older one, the brother and protect her from all the heartbreak in the world. He had failed her and he had failed himself. A little voice in the back of his head mocked him, ‘ _you failed Harry and Hermione. That’s why they did it—you deserved it’_. 

“It wasn’t for me to tell,” she replied, the simplicity of her words suddenly striking Ron as if someone had slapped him in the face. 

“How the hell do you cope, Ginny? You’ve known this for years. I only just found out and I’m struggling with the thought of ever looking at either of them again.”

Ginny sighed and grabbed the bottle and took a drink out of it too. Ron could tell she was struggling with the burn but secretly admired her resolve. “I didn’t cope, not really, at first. It was just after the battle, I was sad and vulnerable. I hadn’t even come to terms with the fact that Fred was actually dead, let alone what Harry was trying to tell me.”

Ron leaned forward and listened intently. 

“It was all sort of a blur. After Fred’s funeral and then Lupin and Tonks, I was just burnt out. It was only after a few days of crying and grieving that it finally hit me what Harry had told me,” Ron remembered the time after the final battle so vividly. Unlike Ginny, who had spent the time living through everything in shades of grey, Ron had spent the time during all the funerals living in bright technicolour. He could recall every whisper, every wail and every moan at those funerals and think about, in perfect clarity, the way the sun had been shining the day of Fred’s funeral. It had been torture at the time. Even now, he remained slightly jealous of the way his sister had been able to live through a glass darkly, muting all her emotions and simply living through those awful days. 

“I got really angry at first. I cried, I threw things, I threatened dismemberment,” she smiled wryly. “Hermione was in Australia at the time, but she didn’t escape my wrath either. I wrote letters to her, begging her to tell me it wasn’t true, that somehow Harry was lying to me. I said some pretty awful things in those letters, Ron. I called her a whore, a slag and scarlet woman. I’m not exactly proud of any of it,” she said, cringing with the memory of her actions. 

“Where the fuck was I when all this was going on? How did I not know?” he implored, feeling angrier at himself by the second. 

Ginny shrugged. “You were helping George at the time. Organising the shop, trying to get him to stop drinking and to stop breaking mirrors...What you were doing was important, don’t blame yourself for not seeing what we didn’t want you to see.” 

Ron’s mind focused on Hermione, the way her body would have started shaking as she cried, clutching those letters, in a foreign country. Would she have kept the letters? Ron had a sneaking suspicion that she had burned them. 

“Finally, I came around and went and saw Harry. We sat down and had a long and truthful conversation about everything. We both cried and yelled. I decided then and there that I loved him and that I was willing to forgive him; forgive them both. My hurt and feelings of betrayal paled in comparison to how much I loved him.” Once again, Ron was shocked at how open and raw Ginny was being at that moment. “You should talk to both of them, Ron. It may not be the easiest thing in the world to hear, but you’ll get some closure. It really was a mistake that they both deeply regret. Talk to Harry,” she repeated. “He’ll tell you. Dose him with Veritaserum, Hermione too. They’re ready to talk.”

Ginny drank the last of the Firewhiskey and Ron had an inkling it was to keep him from getting even drunker than he already was. 

“Was it hard to hear?” Ron asked, his voice failing him. 

Ginny looked at him wistfully. “After talking to them, there was no way I couldn’t forgive him.” She gently kissed his head. 

Turning around, she left the pub and left Ron alone at the table, with his thoughts. 

 


	4. The sound of dragons

Ron sat all alone in the pub. Hannah was doing her best to ignore him, but every now and then Ron would catch her staring at him, with a gentle and concerned look on her face. Most of the other patrons simply ignored him. They weren’t particularly interested in Harry Potter’s sidekick—most of the people in here weren’t interested in Harry Potter himself, Ron would wager. And that suited Ron just fine.

Sitting here alone in a pub, hiding out from the press, was rather cowardly. Ron was a Gryffindor for Merlin’s sake, not to mention a qualified Auror. Nobody would blame him for hiding out, with that toe-rag of a woman following his every move looking for her next full-of-shit exclusive. Ron could lie to everyone else and himself but deep down he knew that he was very much afraid of finding out the truth. For all those years he had convinced himself that Hermione had always loved Harry best. They were a trio of friends for so long and that night he left in the tent, the Horcrux has prayed on his weakness, whispering terrible and awful things. When Hermione had kissed him in that final battle, it became clear as day that the Horcrux had been feeding him lies all along; it was so clear that he had been telling _himself_ lies all those years. 

Ron could probably look past the fact that they had shagged, if it had only just been shagging. It was the other possibility that had him scared out of his wits. 

 _What if the Horcrux was right, all this time?_ Ron thought, feeling his body freeze up at the mere acknowledgement of his underlying demons. He thought back to earlier, the way Hermione had sobbed and begged him not to leave. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe that she loved him now. She proved that she loved him every single day. The thought that maybe, once, she had loved Harry the same way she loved him was the crux of the issue. 

Ron had never spoken about his Horcrux episode to Hermione. He had made Harry promise not to tell her either. Harry had been the one to convince him that there was nothing going on between them, that night. He had lied to his bloody face. The entire time the Horcrux was taunting him; Harry had begged and pleaded with him to know that it wasn’t real. The Horcrux had only shown him Harry and Hermione kissing. In reality they had done worse; much worse. Ron suddenly became even angrier with Harry. 

Why had he convinced both Ginny and Hermione to lie to him? Even now, after all this time, Hermione had abandoned Ron once again for Harry. Always for Harry. 

Being here, in the Leaky, being in fucking _London_ was just too much for Ron right now. The Wizarding community wasn’t huge—if either of them were still actually looking for him, it wouldn’t be long until they found him here, sitting in the middle of a pub like a lonely arse. With that in mind, Ron silently thanked Merlin that his status as a war hero had certain benefits. As a high ranking Auror, he had permission (and the skill) to create a portkey without prior authorisation. It would certainly mean loads of paperwork when was back on duty, but Ron found himself really not giving a Hippogriff’s arse. Taking out an ordinary quill he had shoved into his trousers pockets, he cast the complicated spell and turned the object in his hands twice. 

He stood up from his chair and briefly nodded goodbye to Hannah, who looked at him with the same look of pity and concern as earlier. He pushed his chair in and headed towards the exit. When he finally reached the small alleyway, he commended himself on his precise timing. He waited twenty seconds and tightly grabbed the quill. 

Within seconds, he was spinning through the air. International Portkeys were difficult to make and the journey was awful. Ron felt his feet hit the ground and sighed as he realised he still had three more stops to make. 

\--

Ron smelt the dragons before he saw any. After four stops with the Portkey, he was exhausted. The firewhiskey he had readily consumed earlier was sitting at the pit of his stomach and with all the spinning, Ron was fighting to keep it down. He looked around the reservation, trying to figure out which cabin was Charlie’s. Hearing a dragon roar in the background, Ron shuddered and quickly ran to the first cabin. After a bang on the door, a young Romanian-looking man opened the door. 

“Er, I’m looking for...”

“Another Veasley,” he said flatly, staring at Ron’s hair. 

“Yeah, Ron Weasley, er, could you tell me...”

“Ron?” 

Ron turned around to see his older brother holding a crate and looking at him with panic in his eyes. “What the hell are you doing here? What’s wrong? Fuck, is Mum alright? Ginny?” 

Ron shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Sorry mate, didn’t realise I’d cause a panic,” he said, motioning to the Romanian who had just slammed the door in his face. Charlie visibly relaxed. 

“Effing hell, Ron! You can’t just turn up like that, what’s a bloke to think?” Charlie protested, walking toward his cabin. Ron followed and grabbed one of the ends of the crate, shuffling it with Charlie to lighten the load. Ron realised how mental it must have looked—an Auror coming by Portkey for no good reason to a place he’d never been before. He _was_ mental, to come all the way out here. Charlie represented the furthest place from home Ron could feel safe. Then he realised that of course, Charlie would want to know why the hell he was out here. 

Charlie kicked open the unlocked door to his cabin and guided Ron to carefully place the box on the floor.  Ron stood and looked at the cabin as the door slammed shut behind him. He saw Mercury, Charlie’s owl hooting happily next to the window. A thought suddenly occurred to him. 

“Bollocks! Charlie, do you reckon I could use Mercury? I, uh, kinda need to owl Hermione and let her know I’m here,” he added sheepishly. 

Charlie looked at him as if he had grown a second head. “You’ve got to be taking the piss, Ron. Hermione _doesn’t know you’re here_?” 

Ron took that as a yes and snatched up the parchment and quill that sat on the edge of the bench. 

_Hermione,_

_I’m sorry. I’m safe but I don’t know when I’ll be home._

_Ron_

Ron looked up and saw Charlie reading over his shoulder. “Is that all you’re going to write? You’re going to send my ruddy owl all the way to London and not even tell your effing girlfriend where you are? What the hell is going on?”

“She’ll recognise Mercury and know where I am and shove off! If I wanted a lecture, I would have visited Mum!” he snapped. 

“Knowing Mum she’ll send Errol out with a Howler just to give you one anyway!” 

Ron couldn’t argue with that. Charlie summoned two butterbeers and handed one to him, motioning for him to sit down. “Sorry I don’t have anything stronger. Had a bird over the other night and we drank all of it,” he supplied as way of explanation. “So er, want to tell me what’s got your wand in a twist? You and Hermione have another fight?” 

Ron watched Charlie take a large gulp of his butterbeer. 

“Harry told me he shagged Hermione.”

Ron watched with vague amusement as Charlie spat out the butterbeer. 

“Fuck off!” 

Ron nodded. 

“Well why the hell aren’t you back in London beating the fucking crap out of him? What about Ginny? When did all this happen?”

“Long story. Harry didn’t cheat on Ginny. It was, uh, before Hermione and I got together as well.”

Both men paused and drank their butterbeer in relative silence. 

“George took me to the pub this morning.” Charlie raised his eyebrow. “He didn’t drink any, not a single drop. Ginny also skipped out on training and watched as I downed one too many shots of Firewhiskey. She knew about it since the effing Battle of Hogwarts.”

“And?”

Ron shrugged.”She reckons that she’s forgiven them both. All in the past and that shit. I...I just don’t know, Charlie. What the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t even look at either of them.  She fucking lied to me, Charlie. And not just the kind of lie like, ‘oops, sorry, I didn’t tell you I accidentally set those shorts you loved on fire’. She had sex with my best friend and lied about it for years. I love Hermione and I know that it’s in the past but fuck. Harry, why fucking Harry?” 

“Would you have preferred someone else? Malfoy? Viktor Krum? Percy?”

“You’re not helping, Charlie.” 

“Have you asked her why? Or asked Harry for that matter?” Charlie asked. 

“Do you and Ginny have some sort of stupid psychic link going on?” Ron demanded. “Besides, why the fuck would I want to speak to that tosser any time soon? Lying prick.”

“We’re just the smartest out of the lot,” Charlie cheeked back. “She’s got a point Ron. What they did was fucked, I agree. Especially since you had to find out now but running away isn’t the answer. If you still love Hermione maybe you should go home and talk to the woman.” 

Ron stared at his big brother before opening his mouth. “You don’t get it, Charlie. She lied to me because Harry asked her to. She even, oh Merlin, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but she’s been lying to me about it ever since we, you know.”

Charlie looked at him curiously. “Since you what?” he asked slowly, clutching his butterbeer. 

Ron felt like an absolute git spilling his secrets but fuck it, it wasn’t like his girlfriend was going to win the saint of the year award. He never spoke about sex with anyone. He was in a don’t-ask-don’t-tell situation with Harry and he was always deathly afraid his brothers were going to take the piss out of him. But now wasn’t the time to be conservative. Charlie was extending a helping hand and Ron knew the smart thing was to take it. 

“We had sex after the Battle,” he supplied, taking a sip of his own butterbeer. Merlin, he wanted something stronger. A lot stronger. 

To his credit, Charlie didn’t question him or say something stupid. His silence urged Ron to continue. “And um, well, it wasn’t _my_ first time,” he started and Charlie raised a hand to stop him. 

“Bloody hell Ron! Who was the lucky bird who managed to snag that trophy?”

The thought repulsed him now. “Lavender Brown,” he muttered. “Fucking Lavender Brown.”

Charlie whistled. “Impressive.” Ron glared at him and Charlie shrugged apologetically. “Sorry mate. Your story. Go on.”

“Er, thanks. Well, like I said, it wasn’t my first time but I assumed it was hers, so I went slowly.” His face was absolutely burning with embarrassment now. “But not once, Charlie, not once during the whole thing did she ever stop and say, ‘Ron, I’ve done this before, you can get on with it now’. Bloody hell!” 

He dropped his head into his hands. “What am I supposed to do, Charlie? How can you forgive someone who’s lied to you through that?”

Charlie reached over and patted Ron gently on the arm. “Fuck me,” he answered honestly. “But Ron, did you ever, you know, think to ask her before getting on with it?”

Ron’s head shot up in an instant. Had Charlie gone mad? Here he was pouring his heart out about Hermione and he was implying that Ron had something to be sorry about. He was the victim in all of this. And Harry was the bad guy. And Hermione? Well, she wasn’t exactly a victim in all of it either. But was she the bad guy? Yes. Was she as bad as Harry in all of it? _Fuck, I don’t know_ , Ron finally confessed to himself. But first, he needed to understand where Charlie was coming from. 

“Meaning?” Ron demanded, wanting some clarification. 

“I just mean that not all birds are the same and just because Hermione didn’t act like Lavender during sex, that doesn’t mean anything. Not all birds bleed either,” Charlie pointed out, “and it can hurt more than once too, so I reckon she probably wasn’t lying about that.” 

If Ron hadn’t been mortified before, he was certainly mortified now. “Since when were you an expert? Wait, don’t tell me. All this time sniffing dragon dung has made you barmy, I reckon.” 

“Well, Romania does have some appeal. You, the big shot business owner and successful Auror still took a bunch of portkeys to get here, after all. Or did you miss your big brother?” Charlie cheeked and Ron couldn’t help but smirk. He was right. 

“Shove off.”

There was silence between the two for a while. Ron considered the irony of him running away from the situation. Hermione was probably beside herself with worry. A small part of Ron revelled in that thought. She probably deserved to sweat it out a bit. But the thought made him sick as soon as it passed his mind. If nothing else, he had spent the last four years of his life with her. And if he was being completely honest with himself, he still loved her. 

Merlin, he still loved her. But the question was whether he would be able to ever forgive her. She had been part of making his nightmare come true. He couldn’t just give up now. The memory of Fred made that all too clear. Life was too bloody short. But one thing was for certain, he wasn’t ready to go back. 

“Charlie, could I stay here a few days? Just until I sort my shit out?” 

Charlie stood and banished their empty butterbeer glasses to the kitchen. “Of course you can, mate. But are you sure that’s what you want? I can understand you wanting to stay out of Potter’s way but are you really going to hide from Hermione?”

Before Ron could contemplate opening his mouth to answer, the fireplace began to roar and George’s head popped up in the Floo, looking around until his eyes focused on Ron. “You git!”

“Come off it George,” Charlie warned. 

“I’ll kill Ginny. I thought I was leaving you in capable hands.”

“S’not her fault,” Ron said. 

“Well then it’s your own fault for dragging your arse all the way to bloody Romania, innit?”

“What do you want, George?” Charlie asked, clearly getting irritated with his brother. “You’re wasting enough time and Floo powder with your long distance whining.” 

George’s eyes softened. “Er, Ron...”

“Spit it out, mate!” Ron snapped. George sighed and Ron swore he had seen that look before. 

“Mum’s on the lookout for you,” George warned, “not to mention your woman and Potter. And Skeeter’s been here sniffing around.” 

“Well I don’t want to be found,” he declared. “So if you could kindly tell them to piss off, I’d appreciate it. Especially Skeeter.” 

Even through the Floo network, Ron could see the strained look on George’s face. “Have it your way, Ronniekins. Although if you think I’m telling Mum to piss off, you’re barking.”

“Is that all Georgie boy?” Charlie asked. “Because Ron here has volunteered to help me clear out the dragon dung and you’re wasting time.”

As that information sunk in with Ron, it seemed to have the same effect on George. “You’re staying in Romania?” he asked, clearly surprised. “Well, fuck me.”

“Goodbye George,” Charlie said sweetly as pushed Ron out of the view of the Floo. “Tell Mum I’ll owl her later, yeah? When Mercury comes back. And Georgie? I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”

Ron was glad George had no response as the Floo deactivated and Ron faced the thought of Hermione back in London. With a flick of his wand, Ron opened the door, letting the air rush in. 

“Sure about this?” Charlie asked, standing with Ron. “You could tell me to bugger off and head back to London to talk to Hermione. Or beat the shit out of Harry?” 

Both sounded possible, but Ron sighed. Right now, he couldn’t face them. He needed to sort his shit out. And Romania was the place to do it. 

 


	5. I’ve taken the coward’s way but I’m sure you won’t forget me

**Chapter Five:** **I’ve taken the coward’s way but I’m sure you won’t forget me**

The moment Harry stepped into his dark and lonely flat, a wave of sickness assaulted him and without preamble, he vomited right onto the rug Mrs Weasley had bought him for his housewarming gift. His face throbbed with pain and Harry ripped off his glasses. Ron had always had a strong arm but Harry never expected to be on the receiving end of it. 

Well, if he was being honest with himself, he should have seen this coming. He had witnessed his best friend and fellow teammate absolutely _lose_ it while on patrol when somebody had made the mistake of insulting Hermione. Harry had done absolutely nothing while Ron had brutally staked his claim on display, for everyone in the darkened streets of Knockturn Alley to see.

Harry knew he deserved worse. 

A part of him wished, and really expected, for Ron to leave him in a bloody pulp on the floor. Maybe then the dark feelings of guilt would be replaced with the mind-numbing pain that accompanied physical assault. Him sitting here, being able to talk and to feel and to think was better than Ron deserved.

For everything that his best friend had done for him, Harry supposed that accidentally shagging his girlfriend and lying to him about it was a sick and twisted way to repay him. Harry reminded himself it really wasn’t as simple as that—but he was sure Ron didn’t see it that way. For one, Hermione had been his best friend too. He thought about Hermione, in absolute hysterics demanding they go and find Ron. 

Ron’s warning reverberated in his head. _Leave and don’t fucking come back_. He had waited for a few minutes and tried to calm Hermione. However, like Ron, the memory of what had happened preyed on him. It filled him with disgust, shame and guilt. Hermione had screamed at him to help her look, that they needed to go find him before he did something stupid.

He recalled looking at her and remembering the sickening guilt he had felt all those years ago, in the tent. He apologised to her and she erupted in a fresh wave of tears, her hair thick and wild, and her eyes bloodshot. 

She had screamed, “Fuck you, Harry Potter!” and Disapparated on the spot. He knew Ron was probably far enough away to have a head start. Hermione wouldn’t find him. 

 He wiped his mouth and Vanished the mess on the rug. His head was pounding. He managed to drag himself to his sofa. He grabbed his wand and briefly entertained the notion of sending Ginny a Patronus. It was still fairly early in the morning—she would be in training. Right now though, Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to summon any sort of happy memory. 

He hastily summoned a quill and a spare piece of parchment. He didn’t need to write much.

_Ron knows._

“To Ginny,” Harry croaked at her owl, Artemis. The owl looked at Harry sceptically. “I know she’s training, you stupid bird. I don’t care.” 

The owl hooted its displeasure. Harry flicked his hand and the owl hooted a final time and took off, Harry’s parchment held firmly in its beak. For all its faults, the bird was fast. It responded to Ginny more than Harry and more than one occasion, Harry found himself wishing his beloved Hedwig were still alive. 

As the bird took off out of the window, Harry leant back on the sofa and held his head in his hands. This morning had been a complete nightmare. He had set out for a normal day this morning. It had been years since Harry had even thought about the incident between him and Hermione all those years ago.

In the weeks after the war, he had battled with himself, Ginny and Hermione. He had steadfastly ignored every attempt they had made to get him to confess to Ron. Hermione had wanted to tell Ron, more than once, and every discussion they had about it had erupted into a fight. She and Ginny were on shaky ground and the incident had driven the former best friends apart. 

He should have listened.

Now, years later, it was finally coming back to haunt him. And he had managed to do what he was trying to avoid—hurting Ron and hurting Hermione. He knew Ron so well and the thought of him, full of rage at both he and Hermione filled him with dread. His silence was supposed to avoid this outcome. He wanted to go in to work tomorrow and greet his best friend and then catch up with Hermione during lunch, listening to them both talk about work, their families and each other. Would that ever happen again?

Minutes passed and Harry wondered whether Ginny would come. She had been through hell and back, keeping the same secret from her brother. Harry felt awful about enlisting Ginny’s silence but at the time, he couldn’t see an alternative. He wasn’t prepared to watch Ron walk away from him again. So he lied. 

The very real thought of what would happen to Harry crossed his mind. If Ron hated him, which it was quite obvious he did, what would happen to his relationship with the Weasleys? They were his family. He couldn’t imagine his life without the Burrow to call his second home. He couldn’t expect them to take his side, not when he was the villain of the piece. He looked impatiently at his clock. Five minutes since Artemis had left. His hope that Ginny might come back was slowly diminishing. If she left him, he would truly have nothing and nobody.

In a better world, his other best friend would be here, consoling him. He had burned that bridge long ago. She wouldn’t want to speak to him again after today. Once again, he came to the realisation that he really couldn’t blame her.

She at least was out there, trying to track down Ron. Harry could barely move, his body becoming heavy and tired with grief. Before he could entertain any further morose thoughts, a telltale crack sounded and Ginny appeared, her face flushed.

Harry sat up and stared at Ginny. She still wore her training gear and her Quidditch cloak hung limply around her shoulders. Harry looked at her, allowing himself to feel complete and utter happiness that she had actually come to him. 

“Ginny,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’ve fucked up.”

Harry thought for a moment that she would leave him there. “Oh Harry,” she whispered and leant down on her knees in front of him and gripped his knees. “I know.”

o0o

Ginny had stayed with Harry for a few minutes. After he had caught her up, she had decided to check up on Hermione. Harry missed her absence acutely but had understood her need to get away from him. Harry had waited for her ‘I told you so’ speech that so frequently came from the mouth of Hermione. Thankfully and unexpectedly, Ginny had refrained. 

Ginny was quite clearly hurt—Harry knew and understood that she had struggled with the knowledge. It must have been a great relief for her that her brother to have finally discovered his haunting secret. Ginny was likely on damage control, trying to find Ron where Hermione had likely failed. 

He thought about Hermione, all alone in her flat. Harry didn’t know it was possible, but even more guilt pierced through him. If he had panicked at his own lonely existence without his best friend, it was agonising to think about what Hermione was going through. He was sure Ginny would have stopped in like she had promised but after that, he was sure nobody would be paying Hermione a visit to check up on her. 

He knew he deserved it, but Hermione?

Neither of them were blameless—he knew that. She had literally begged him and threatened him to tell Ron. The ensuing arguments and the heartbreaking decision they had both eventually came to preyed on his mind as well. He recalled the terrified look on Hermione’s face when she had screamed and cried for him to take her memories of the event away but Harry always knew that Hermione was the best at spells. He might have been the Chosen One but not even he was able to rid Hermione on her memories permanently. 

He had just been so terrified that she would turn her wand on herself in an effort to stop remembering. 

As he feared, the spell had worn off which had left them in the exact same predicament. Hermione and Harry had sex during the Horcrux hunt and had been lying to Ron about it—plain and simple. In a way, he was relieved when his spell had ultimately failed. 

Being the only one to carry the terrible secret had been awful. 

It was only in the past few months Harry had learnt to put the past behind him. He could stop acting like his world was going to implode every time he sat next to Ron. He should have known it would come back to haunt him. 

He deserved it, after all. 

Harry looked at the clock. Ginny had said she would have to go straight back to training. She had been gone for at least three hours and wouldn’t be back for another two. He looked at the state of his flat. Aside from the faint residue left from his vomiting episode, it was in pristine condition. 

Harry stood. He went for his wand but decided against it. With his hands, he began to tear at everything around him. The sofa cushions went first. Harry remained eerily silent as he began to systematically destroy everything around him. The ornaments were next. They crashed to the ground without a second’s thought. Picture frames, glassware and the drying dishes crashed into the floor, one after the other. 

Before Harry could move into his bedroom, his Floo fired to life. A second later, Hermione stepped out of the fireplace. Her face was streaked with tears. She looked completely dishevelled as she looked around his apartment.

“What are you doing here, Hermione?” Harry demanded, his voice lower and harsher than he wanted. “It wasn’t as if Ron was cryptic about his instructions before he left. Nor were you, if I recall.”

“I can perfectly recall what I said,” Hermione replied. “But now really isn’t the time to debate it.”

Harry didn’t want to be angry with her—it was irrational, after all. But right now, she represented everything he had lost and everything he wanted to forget. One day, he would berate himself for ever considering the thought of hating Hermione, but not right now. 

Right now, she needed to leave.

“What do you want?” he said, looking away from her. “Has Ron come back?” 

“No, he hasn’t,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “Ginny popped in and said her piece, though.”

“Forgive me, Hermione, but I’m still not clear as to why you’re here. If you ever want Ron to forgive us, I reckon you need to turn around to go back home,” Harry said, softness creeping back into his voice. 

Harry expected a verbal onslaught. Instead, Hermione cleared the space between them and delivered a sharp slap to his cheek. For a second, he relished in the sting as it paired with the earlier injury inflicted by Ron. 

“How dare you!” she hissed. “It’s because of you he’s gone. I begged you, Harry!” Hermione cried, tears now spilling over her cheeks. “And when you insisted he never know, I asked you to take my memories, and you couldn’t even do that!”

Harry smashed a decorative vase that was sitting on the stand next to the sofa. “Do you think I don’t know that, Hermione? Do you think this feels good? For fuck’s sake, I was there too, you know! At least he might forgive you. I’m always going to be the arsehole that fucked his girlfriend and lied to him about it!” Harry roared. “He’s never going to even look at me, Hermione. Every time he sees me, at every family gathering, every mission, it’s going to be there! And it makes me fucking sick. What we did makes me fucking sick!”

This time, Hermione took out her wand and pointed it at Harry. “So should I take away your memories to make it better?” she shrieked. “Except, I’ll do it properly and won’t have the memory of you and I creeping up into my mind in the middle of my workday!”

Harry took a moment to survey the scene between them—he and Hermione screaming in the middle of his flat, his possessions broken and scattered on the floor. Hermione had her wand on him. How long would the consequences of that night follow them? 

 _For as long as you deserve it_ , a small voice reminded him. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, calmer than before. “I told you, you were the best at spells.”

“Well excuse me if I thought the Auror could cast a simple Obliviate,” Hermione snapped, furiously wiping away some tears from her face. “I need your Pensieve.”

Harry was confused. “What?”

Hermione huffed impatiently. “Your Pensieve, Harry. I need it. And then I’m gone.”

Hermione lowered her wand and Harry exhaled a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “You had your wand on me, Hermione. You could have just taken it.”

Hermione looked down at her wand and her face blushed a brighter red. “Oh.” She shook her head. “Harry, I—“

“Forget it,” Harry said gruffly. “Just take it.”

Hermione sighed and pushed past Harry. He briefly wondered how she was going to take it with her. When she came out, he noticed she had a small bag with her. He should have known. Hermione was always the smartest. 

Harry sat down as Hermione ignored him and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated. 

Hermione didn’t turn around. “For what, specifically?” she said gruffly. 

“For everything,” Harry whispered. “We should have told him, Hermione. I should have let you tell him,” he whispered. 

Hermione gripped her bag and turned around. Harry felt tears leak out of his own eyes. He removed his glasses and furiously wiped them. He was embarrassed—mortified, really, to be crying in front of Hermione, especially when her world had been turned upside down—more than his. She was going to lose Ron and it was his fault. In so many nightmares after the War, Harry watched his best friend leave or die or be torn apart. He was desperate, _so desperate_ to not see him walk away again. 

And it had cost him everything.

“Yes, you should have,” Hermione replied crisply and disappeared in a flash of green light. 


	6. I’ll relive the pain so you can tell me how it feels

**Chapter Six: I’ll relive the pain so you can tell me how it feels**

Hermione stumbled through her fireplace. Angry tears had settled in her eyes and were now starting to spill onto her already red and blotchy face. She hadn’t been prepared for the onslaught of emotions she would feel facing Harry again. Her heart and her mind had declared war and it was all Hermione could do to not curl up into a ball and let the pain wash over her. 

She hadn’t wanted to see Harry. At first, when Ron had stormed in and shattered the perfectly constructed happiness she had built on her lie, it had been quite simple to assign all the needed blame to Harry. Ron had clearly cast Harry in the role of the villain and she would follow suit. But her conscience hadn’t let her thoughts rest on that. She was equally to blame and she was sure that with some thorough thought, Ron would come to that conclusion too. 

Ever since Ron had left, a hole had been forming inside of her. She recognised the feeling, having carried it through her years at Hogwarts. Her body had ached for the safety of her friends and her family then. Now, it ached for the arms of Ron. 

Another wave of sadness and guilt passed over her and Hermione angrily wiped her face. She had done something wrong—nearly unforgivable, but there was no way she was going to sit around and dwell on her mistakes. She had really messed things up but what would giving up achieve? Ron was out there somewhere angry and hurt. She had no idea whether he was ever going to forgive her but she certainly wasn’t going to lose herself to the despair and resign herself to her fate. She had done that twice before and both resulted in the problem she faced now.

She would fight for Ron until it was blatantly clear that he was never going to forgive her. And then she would fight even harder. So much had been ripped away from them in their lives and she would be damned if she was going to let Ron slip through her fingers. 

He had every right to be angry with her. Hearing it from Harry would have been brutal. She should have pulled herself out of the overwhelming despair she had felt in that tent, or fought harder against Harry’s seemingly reasonable counterarguments or spilled everything to Ron when Harry’s failed Obliviate sent horrid and sickening memories hurtling through her brain in the middle of a Tuesday in the office. 

But she hadn’t. She had been afraid of his reaction and now her nightmare had become her reality. The only solace that she could give herself was that hopefully, once Ron was presented with all the facts and her deepest and sincerest apologies, he would forgive her. He _had_ to forgive her. 

Which brought her right back to her mission from this morning. Her fingers snaked around her trusty bag. Her mission had taken her right into the lion’s den. Harry had been miserable and any other time, it would pain her to see him in such a state. 

But, he had what she needed so she had tried to avoid the screaming and the crying that reverberated inside her own skull and be in and out promptly. A part of her was glad he was suffering. It reminded her that it was expected that she be suffering in the clouds of her own despair, desperately seeking refuge inside herself to rid herself of the pain that she caused Ron. 

Harry was doing just that. 

As selfish as it sounded though, she stood to lose so much more than him. She wasn’t sure, nor did she wish to think about it, but Ron would probably never forgive him. However, Harry had Ginny. Harry had let himself confess their sin to Ginny and while she was in Australia, he was mending fences that she herself couldn’t mend with Ron. It was then that she suddenly stopped feeling sorry for Harry. 

He would be fine, she thought bitterly. Ginny loved Harry and although she never really understood her friend’s devotion, she had managed to find some semblance of forgiveness for Hermione. For that, Hermione at least owed her something. 

And there she went again—no wonder Ron was so furious. She was supposed to be mourning his loss and trying to figure out a way to make things better and here she was thinking about sodding _Harry Potter_ again. So she pushed all matters pertaining to him out of her mind. If she was going to go through with her plan, she would need a clear mind.

She could fall apart later. 

She thrust her hand into the bag and after accidentally nudging a pile of books she had forgotten to remove, she clutched the miniaturised pensieve she had liberated. She knew for a fact that Harry had never used it. Really, it was just gathering dust. After she had her moment of panic, the idea had come to her and she had rejoiced in the thought that at least she was somewhat prepared. 

With a heavy heart, Hermione has surmised that Ron was particularly devastated about the lie that she had kept up, rather than the act itself. Rightfully so, her conscious berated her. 

Wherever he was now, she hoped that he was okay and that someone was with him. George or Ginny or even Neville. She had already come to the conclusion that she would remain alone in this--she was the bad guy, the woman who had shattered Ron Weasley’s heart. She deserved the solitude. 

With a flick of her wand, the pensieve expanded. Hermione set down the bag and rolled up her sleeves. How was she going to approach this? A tiny thought in her mind asked her if she really thought this would convince Ron. She was guilty and she had done it. She had slept with Harry. And while the thought positively sickened her now, she had nothing left to lose. 

It was time to be honest, which meant giving Ron whatever he needed and showing him the truth. It was a desperate plan but she had nothing else-- no strangled confessions of innocence, no blaming Harry. It was just her, the memories and Ron. But where to begin?

She wasn’t sure if she was ready to face the memory of the night in the tent but she was nothing if not logical. She would have to start from the beginning. With a deep breath, Hermione grabbed her wand, silently hoping she wouldn’t blast every single memory she had into oblivion. 

Just before she could turn the wand on herself, Hermione heard an insistent tapping at the window. She lowered the wand quickly, startled to see what looked like Charlie’s owl beckoning her. She undid the latch as Mercury flew in and landed on the perch, digging into the owl treats left there. 

“Mercury?”

The bird barely acknowledged her, dropping a piece of parchment onto the floor. With unsteady fingers, Hermione grabbed the note, fear gripping her heart. Had something happened to Ron? To Charlie?

Relief flooded her senses as she recognised the familiar handwriting. Ron. 

_Hermione,_

_I’m sorry. I’m safe but I don’t know when I’ll be home._

_Ron_

He was sorry? A hand flew to her mouth as she tried to calm herself down. First of all, he was _okay_. Ron was fine. The fact that he had taken the time and effort to let her know where he was spoke volumes. Her moment of happiness was shattered as she pieced everything together. 

Ron was with Charlie. 

He had to escape to Romania to get away from everything. Get away from her. Hermione looked at Charlie’s bird sadly. He hooted at her and Hermione had the feeling that even Mercury could sense the tension. She turned the parchment over and summoned a quill. 

What could she possibly write that could make him feel better? Sorry I lied to you didn’t quite cut it. She wanted him to know that she was sorry, that she regretted it every day and wished she had told them right before their first night together? So much couldn’t be communicated in so little. 

She finally decided. It went against everything she felt but she knew that Ron needed his space. She had run after him this morning and he had escaped at every turn. Chasing him into forgiveness would probably damage them for good if it hadn’t already. 

Hermione Granger swallowed her pride. She had been selfish. It was time for Ron. 

 

_I’m here. I love you._

_Hermione_

 

She willed her hand to stop. She wanted to fill pages of parchment with meaningful apologies and grand statements of forgiveness. The time would come. Before she could change her mind, she shoved the parchment into Mercury’s waiting talons. 

He glared at Hermione one last time and flew back through the open window. 

She looked back at her pet project. The pensieve looked menacing. With a sigh, she turned her wand back onto herself. It had to work. It just had to. 

\--

Ron yelped as he lost another game of Exploding Snap. _Leave it to sodding Charlie to make the game more dangerous_ , he thought. The fire was roaring and Charlie had managed to scavenge some Firewhiskey and a bottle of some local spirits so Ron was blissfully numb. 

After George’s self-righteous rant and a hurried Floo call home to their Dad, nothing more about the incident had been mentioned. That suited Ron perfectly. All day he had been expecting sympathetic siblings but had to sit and listen to them be wise. It was bloody annoying, to say the least. Luckily Charlie had jumped on the bandwagon and stepped up, letting Ron just enjoy the silence. 

“You’re a wanker,” Ron slurred at his older brother. “Why’d you make me play this shitty game. Get out your chess set!” 

Charlie snorted. “You’re fucking mental if you think I’m falling for that. Even drunk you can wipe the floor with me.”

Ron shrugged and took another drink. He waited for the nagging or supposedly good-natured advice from his brother. He was happy to hear none. He coughed, forcing the burn further down his throat. 

“I’m an Auror. I can wipe the floor with you _literally_ if you like.”

“Reckon I’ll pass.”

Ron grunted in response. He had only been this drunk a handful of times. Post-War celebrations. Post-War funerals. Percy’s stag night. Percy’s wedding. The night Victoire was born. 

He wasn’t a violent drunk, although he had managed to get into a fight with Theodore Nott at the Leaky on Percy’s stag. And nearly every time, Hermione had been there to hold him up and direct him to the nearest loo in his moment of need. 

At the thought of her creeping back in, Ron took another big drink out of the local drink. He was trying to banish thoughts of her, not promote them. It didn’t help that she was in every facet of his life. She was there every night and there every morning, greeting him with a cup of tea or slightly snoring as he snuck into bed.

Fuck.

Charlie noticed the change in demeanour. “None of that shit.”

“I can’t bloody help it! This is fucking ridiculous!”

His brother nodded sympathetically. “I’m gonna tell you something and you had better shut your gob about it, yeah?”

Charlie leant forward and took another drink. He looked uncomfortable. “Not a fucking word, I mean it,” he said. 

“I’m drunk, not an idiot,” he snapped. 

He took a deep breath. “You know the story about how Bill and Fleur met, yeah?”

Ron nodded. “They met at Gringotts.” He frowned. Was this meant to be a story about him or Bill? “Why?”

“When I was visiting, my mates took me to a nightclub. We were drinking and dancing and mucking around. And then I saw her.”

In his drunken haze, Ron couldn’t see where the story was going. “Who?”

Charlie smiled sadly. “Fleur.”

Some information passed through the fog that had settled in Ron’s head. “Fleur? Our Fleur?”

“Its not exactly a common name, Ron,” Charlie snapped. “Shut it. Anyway, we danced and err--hit it off. So for a few days, while I was home, I decided to take my chances.”

Ron stared at his brother, mortified. “What? When? Bloody hell, Charlie!”

“She wasn’t with Bill at the time, don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that--” 

“You never bloody know,” Ron grumbled, trying to avoid the image of his former best mate that was floating around. 

“We were out at this restaurant across from Gringotts. We were there eating, chatting away. Fleur was wearing a dress and had this weird French scarf wrapped around her face. And then, we saw Bill.”

Ron just stared. 

“And the rest, as they say, is history,” Charlie announced and drank the rest of his drink. 

Ron’s brain was racing as fast as it could. Charlie and Fleur. Fleur and Charlie.

“Did you shag her?” Ron blurted out before he could stop himself. 

_Please say no. Please say no. Not tonight._

“No. Definitely not,” Charlie assured him. “But Ron--fuck, I can’t believe I’m even saying this-- I liked Fleur.”

Memories of Charlie came flooding back. Charlie sending letters explaining he had work. Charlie avoiding family dinners. Charlie standing next to Bill at his wedding to Fleur. 

“You loved her,” Ron stated as confidently as he could. 

He had loved her all this time. He had to see Fleur fall in love with another man. Their brother. And Charlie had done nothing to stop him. “You should have said something!”

Charlie shrugged. “And done what? Completely humiliated myself? Ruined their relationship? I love Bill. And so does Fleur.”

Ron had to give the man credit. He had lived with this for years. Was this what he was in for? Watching himself shy away from his family because of what had happened? Because of Harry?

“I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me, Ron. Or to say that your situation is the same, ‘cos its not. I’m just sayin’, well, I know how fucked up it feels.”

Ron wasn’t sure how he felt deep down, but for now, fucked up seemed pretty on par. He thought about Hermione’s short reply. He thought about how much the alcohol was failing to dim the rage and the pain on the inside. He thought about the fucking horcrux and how it was still ruining his life. 

He thought about Harry. 

“Life’s fucked,” Ron announced holding up his bottle.

“To a fucked up life,” Charlie agreed and took another drink. 

 


	7. Take a bow, those are things you can’t take back

**Chapter Seven: Take a bow, those are things you can’t take back**

“You’re telling me that you won’t be in on Monday,” the stern voice of Robards echoed through the Floo. Ron barely flinched under his gaze. His boss was back in sodding London, for Merlin’s sake. He’d been hounded by the press, his well-meaning family and his own imagination for three days now but it still wasn’t long enough away from everything. 

“I’m taking my personal leave,” Ron reiterated, staring Robards down through the green flames. “I haven’t taken a sodding day off since I started. It’s my leave and I’m taking it.”

Robards’ silence spoke volumes. Ron was sure that he didn’t want another scene between him and Harry at the Ministry. Aurors hated publicity as it was and having the Chosen One as a star member of the team brought loads of it. Ron grudgingly admitted that he drew enough unwanted attention to his department all on his own, too. 

“Have you spoken to Potter?” Robards asked after a pause. Was his boss completely mental? 

“No, I haven’t,” Ron stated impatiently. “And I reckon I probably won’t. Ever again.”

Robards looked uncomfortable and he wasn’t even the one who had found out about his traitorous, shagging, bollocks of a mate. “Your leave is approved,” Robards grunted down the Floo. “Get your shit together, Weasley.”

Ron barely had time to comprehend his boss’s words before the Floo promptly cut out. And Hermione thought _he_ had the emotional range of a teaspoon-- Ron was surprised he managed to have a decent conversation for as long as he did. 

That was at least one mental conversation over-- with another two more to come. Charlie had offered to take care of at least one of them, but Ron wasn’t a kid anymore. He’d fought enough battles and even killed a few wizards in his short time as a fugitive and an Auror. 

So, instead of sending Mercury for another round trip, he was going to find his courage and screw his bollocks to the sticking place. “Sure you don’t want me to give her a call? Either, I mean?” Charlie called out from the kitchen, where he was making them an early breakfast. The time difference meant that it was half five in the morning in Romania and a reasonable hour back in London. When Charlie had asked Ron to stay on to help him out, he jumped at the chance to stay. He had thought about going back to the Burrow but he wasn’t up to it. 

He wasn’t made out of bloody stone and staying away and clearing his head didn’t make him a sodding coward. He knew his family meant well but they were too close to everything. As far as he knew, Ginny hadn’t chucked Harry so even if he never wanted to lay eyes on the effing prat again, he would still be there at the bloody table and at Christmastime. He wasn’t a complete idiot-- he knew that, at least. 

But in the end, he had decided to stay so now he had to make two more mental Floo calls. Charlie looked at him, pity in his eyes. “Ron?”

“I’ll do it,” he grunted. Charlie shrugged and set his wand to beat the eggs. Ron took a deep breath, stuck his head into the Floo and called out, “The Burrow.”

The first thing he heard was a shriek and then the face of his mum appeared. It was too early for this shit. “Err, hi Mum,” he started. 

“Oh my dear boy,” Molly moaned. “Are you alright? Is Charlie taking care of you? CHARLIE?”

It was definitely too early for this shit. “‘lo Mum,” Charlie called out. 

“Mum, I’m fine,” Ron interjected. “Really.”

Molly visibly relaxed but Ron knew her better than most. “Really,” he added. 

“So when are you coming home? I fixed your room for you,” she added brightly. “George has been popping round more and Ginny has been Owling.”

Ron pretended to be interested but there was a photograph behind his mother that was holding his attention instead. His dad had snapped a quick picture on the platform when they had collected Ginny and Hermione after their repeated Seventh Year. In the picture, Hermione had just launched into his arms and he was spinning her around. 

It was a beautiful picture. 

“Ron? Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah...” Ron ran his fingers through his hair, still damp from his quick bath with lukewarm water. “Err, Mum, Charlie’s asked me to stay on for a little bit so I’m gonna be helping him here. In Romania. For a while.”

There was uncharacteristic silence as Ron tore his eyes away from his dancing girlfriend. Molly Weasley never looked mildly put out or even angry-- she as either miserable, happy as a Pygmy, or downright murderous. 

However, right now, she was just staring at him. It was an unnerving feeling, not being able to predict his mum’s reaction. Much to his relief and amazement, Molly Weasley proceeded to nod, a sense of understanding passing over her tired and comforting features. 

“Have you discussed this with work? I’m sure George could pop in and...”

“All taken care of, Mum,” Ron assured her. “I’ll be back as soon as Charlie reckons everything’s done.” Everything was going better than Ron had expected. He prayed to Merlin that the next Floo call he was going to make would go so calmly. 

“I suppose you ought to go and...Owl Hermione?” Molly suggested calmly. For every moment of success he was having in coming to grips with what he now dubbed The Betrayal, another moment of despair hit him equally. 

“I’m going to Floo her,” Ron replied, trying to keep his voice from betraying him. He needed to be calm. “Now, actually. Before I eat.”

Molly took a deep breath and Ron knew she was working very hard to keep her gob shut. In the end, her self-control won. “Tell Charlie we said hello. Owl when you get home.”

“Yeah, I will. Bye Mum.”

He gave a quick wave and the Floo connection ended. “Well, that wasn’t as painful as you thought.”

He may have escaped a solid ear-bashing from his mother, but out of all the Floo calls he’d be making today, the next one would be the worst. He hadn’t heard from or contacted Hermione since he had received her Owl days ago. The hard labour Charlie had him doing had done its job and taken his mind off the disaster he had left behind. Well, mostly, anyway. 

Despite everything, Hermione never strayed far from his mind. Many things crossed his mind over the past few days. He went from bleeding mad to a sodding mess in the space of about three minutes just thinking about the whole thing. His own brain taunted him constantly with scary visuals and stupid questions- did she ever love Harry?  Was he just a pity fuck because of his brother that night? Why did she lie to him?

His own responses to these questions were equally so stupid that they nearly made sense again-- a part of him, the smallest part, did understand why they had lied. It made him sick, but a part of him, the part he was trying to sort out under the Romanian sun, reminded him that he might’ve just killed Harry when the Horcrux taunted him. 

It sickened him to no end but the thought wouldn’t leave him. That image of Harry and Hermione had made him mental. If he had had even an inkling that probably-- Merlin’s beard, was it days? Hours?-- earlier his Hermione had been wrapped in Harry’s arms, he might’ve done it.

_He might’ve done it._

Which is why he was here and away from work. He needed to be here and not around her. He was still bloody mad at the whole situation and there was more to it than his stupid thoughts. Despite the fact that she had broken his heart, there wasn’t a way out. He loved her. Ron fucking loved Hermione and even when she had lied to him and slept with Harry, he still fucking loved her. 

It hurt and he had tried to punish his body and let his anger work itself out, because he was the bloody victim for once, but it didn’t change a sodding thing. He loved Hermione more than anything in the world. He loved her bushy hair and her attitude and the way she would crumple into his arms after a shitty day at the Ministry. 

So how the hell was he going to reconcile his need for space with this? He knew he loved her, sure, but that didn’t mean he was over it. He was far from it. She had lied and more than that, she had slept with Harry! 

The sound of Charlie announcing breakfast was ready threw Ron back into his position, sitting in front of the Floo with a handful of powder. “Ron?”

He turned to Charlie, his hand still full of loose powder. He was gripping it tight and it formed a little mountain in his fist. “D’you mind if I take this one alone? It won’t take long...I just...”

Charlie nodded in understanding. “I get it. Privacy. Your plate’s there. I’ll be outside.”

There was no ribbing, just brotherly understanding, which is exactly why Ron needed to be here. A small part of him hoped Hermione understood what he needed, although her betrayal meant that she would have to find a way to be okay with it. 

That was the price of being the bad guy, after all. 

Ron looked down at his clenched hand. All that stood between he and Hermione was  a handful of Floo powder and probably thousands of miles. It would be easy to just put the powder back and go outside with Charlie. It was his new routine-- one that didn’t include ripping out his own heart from his chest. 

But, as he knew, he didn’t have it in him. He couldn’t just leave her there, not knowing when or even if, he was going back. Bloody hell, he didn’t even know if he would be going back to her; to them. 

Whatever it was, he had to tell her. Miles to go before he’d sleep. So with a deep breath, he unclenched his hand and tossed the Floo powder into the fireplace. He stuck his head in and called for Hermione. 

He wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not, but within moments, the face of the woman he loved appeared. It took a moment for him to adjust to the sight. Even through the Floo, he was affected by her presence and his heart clenched at the sight of her. 

She looked horrible. Sod it, she looked even worse. Ron’s stomach lurched in response to what he was seeing but even through her unbrushed hair and tear-stained face, he could still see the same girl who had sat beside him and corrected all his spelling mistakes in second year. 

Her eyes went wide and Ron died a little inside. He ran his hand through his hair and tried to focus on looking her in the eyes. “Hullo Hermione.”

Hermione stared at him for a moment. “Ron,” she breathed. “Ron, it’s you.”

He tore his eyes away from her because his insides were turning and his brain was rebelling. He needed this. He needed to be away to find out if he could forgive her. 

“Are you alright? You look tired. Is Charlie treating you well? Well, I’m sure he is. I can’t believe it’s you, I mean I’ve been waiting...” she asked in a hurry. “I didn’t want to leave the flat, just in case. And I have treats here for Mercury and I’ll keep him here if you like. Merlin, Ron, it must be early over there?”

He cleared his throat and tried to speak as if he was just checking in. It was merely a courtesy call, not the hardest fucking hurdle since the shit hit the broomstick days before. 

“Yeah,” he barely managed to squeeze out. “Charlie’s got me up clearing dragon dung and feedin’ em in the mornings. S’ok but you’re right, I’m bloody tired.”

She nodded in understanding. “Well, make sure you have a warm bath before you go to bed. Pepper-Up potion might help too. When you come home, I can give you a massage...”

And there it was. This was the girl who had sent bloody birds after him in Sixth Year-- she had never shied away from verbalising or physically showing her frustration. Her voice broke and she hurriedly wiped away tears from her already puffy eyes. 

He hated seeing her cry. Fuck, this was harder than he had pictured it, which had been a lot. His good luck had run out on his Floo calls with Robards and his Mum. But then again, Hermione Granger was the source of all his happiness and now all of his pain. 

It wasn’t fair. 

“Ron...”

It was now or never. Sure, he could go home and have it out with her, but it would be a quick fix. He needed the Muggle way of mending bones and going home would just be _Episkey_. 

He didn’t say anything. What could he say to her? That he couldn’t look at her yet, because he kept seeing her with Harry? That he hadn’t decided whether he could ever forgive her? That he was leaving for good? 

“Are you coming home?” she dared ask and Ron could tell it took all of her courage, as if she didn’t want to know the answer. 

Bloody hell, now he felt like tearing up. “Hermione...”

Her voice rose an octave or two, a hint of Hermione hysteria tainting it. “You are coming home, right? We can talk about this. I- I’m not ready for you to say that you’re lea-”

“Hermione, stop,” Ron interrupted. 

“Please don’t do this.”

What she didn’t understand was that he _had_ to. “I’m not leaving you.”

She went to open her mouth, but he held up his hand. “Hermione, I’m...fuck. I don’t even know,” he whispered. “I’m all the way out here, and you’re there and it’s mental and I miss you.”

Her eyes brightened a little as she brushed away more tears in a gesture he had seen many a time before. “But I can’t do it. Not yet.”

“This is absurd. You need to come home. We’ll work it out together, like we always do,” Hermione tried to reason. “Not that I’m trying to be bossy, but-”

“Hermione, you’re always bossy,” Ron interjected. “But for right now, I reckon I need this. Charlie’s got enough work here for me for a few weeks and the office approved my leave.”

Hermione shook her head. “It’s...so far, Ron. And we can’t do this over the Floo or through an Owl. I want to talk to you about this, to explain.”

This was too much. How the hell was he supposed to account for his feelings and her feelings all at once? He wasn’t made of stone but he wanted to shake her. Why didn’t she get it? 

“Well if you reckon we’re ready, go on,” Ron snapped, the angry and tired feeling sinking deep into his bones. “Tell me why you fucked Harry and why you lied about it, fifty words or less.”

Silence. 

“That’s not fair, Ron!” Hermione said, her voice and mannerisms becoming more agitated. “You’ve got to let me explain.”

“The hell I do!” Ron snapped. “Hermione, you were the one who did it, not me. I miss you, yeah, but I’m not ready for this. I need to be ready, I need to find a way...”

“To forgive me,” Hermione breathed, finishing his sentence. “To reconcile it all.”

And there it was. “Hermione, I need to see if I can do this,” he said quietly. “I know you think I’m running away. Merlin, that’s probably what started this bollocks in the first place. I don’t want this, you have to believe me.”

It was him who moved closer now, as if they were literally only inches apart, instead of miles of land and sea. “I said I wouldn’t leave you. I’m trying to keep that promise.”

He held up his hand and all the way in London, in their tiny flat they called home, Hermione held up hers. “We can fix this,” she said and Ron couldn’t help but hope she was right. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

Despite everything, the words tumbled out of Ron’s mouth. “I love you too.”

He moved his hand away. “I’ve gotta go. Charlie’s waiting for me.” 

Hermione simply looked at him, her hand slowly moving downwards. “I’ll be here,” she whispered. “Goodbye Ron.”

“Goodbye Hermione.”

And with the courage of a Gryffindor, Ron pulled his head out of the fireplace. 

 


	8. Juxtaposed conclusions show both sides

Hermione knew that she should move. She was a clever witch, after all. The Floo call from Ron had left her rather dazed, if she was honest with herself. An irrational part of her wished that he would sod it all and come straight home into her waiting arms and shag her senseless, letting the weight of the world fall away from their shoulders. 

The rational part of her, which always reigned supreme, knew that wouldn’t happen. The more fearful part of herself reminded her that it might never happen again. There was too much going on inside Hermione Granger’s head and quite frankly, she needed to get out of it as soon as possible. 

Hermione had always counted herself amongst the witches that didn’t need the presence of a wizard to complete her life. She had already accomplished so much with her short life. She was a very successful witch but at the end of the day, she acknowledged that Ron had been by her side through it all. She glanced at the pair of matching medals that were on display and her heart sank. 

Everything had been so perfect and now she had gone and spoiled everything. Her gaze drifted to the small beaded handbag that she had left by the doorway. Well, it wasn’t exactly _only_ her fault, was it? She shifted her legs so she was now sitting on the floor, rather than kneeling. 

She and Harry were both to blame. She had never put up with Harry’s nonsense before and it plagued her still that she hadn’t pushed it. She supposed that she was grateful that the three of them had survived the war. A small amount of heartache at the beginning would have saved them now, though. 

She thought back to her original plan, before Ron had flooed. She had braved Harry Potter this time and made it abundantly clear that she placed at least half of the blame squarely on his shoulders. 

He had looked positively awful but she was sure Ginny would come to his aid, as per usual, she thought bitterly. If Ron was truly taking the time away from her to sort out his feelings, then there was still hope. He had found her in the middle of a frozen forest and there was no way Hermione Granger was going to lose him now. 

She stood and stared at the beaded bag defiantly. The Pensieve inside would soon hold her most horrible and disgusting memories but deep down she knew that Ron was going to able to move past her horrible betrayal, she was going to have to give him the truth. 

All of it. 

With a flick of her wand, the miniature Pensieve came flying into her outstretched hand. During her flight back from Australia, Hermione had read extensively about Pensieves and she was positive she knew all the spells and incantations to make this project work. Harry had used one enough and that alone fuelled her. She was loathe to admit that the great Harry Potter could master the skill so she sat the object down. 

“Engorgio,” she stated clearly and the Pensieve shot up and unfolded like a gift on Christmas in front of her. She gently pushed back tendrils of her hair and moved to find the book on her already-crowded bookshelf. The Pensieve gently hummed behind her, reminding her of her purpose. Her fingers danced quickly along the spines of other books-- _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , _Shakespeare and the Weird Sisters: A Biography_ \-- until her hand touched something sticking out from amongst the books. 

She gently pulled it out of the books. It was a photo, one Hermione hadn’t seen for years. Hermione looked at the camera, smiling while both Ron and Harry pulled faces next to her. Hermione stared at her younger self as she lectured them in the photo. Colin had taken the photo and when Harry had asked for it, Colin had nearly fallen over himself to give it to him. 

They looked so young and untouched by the true horrors that were to come. Ron and Harry had both taken her in when she had nobody else. They had stood by her as she was called a Mudblood, as she was petrified right up until she received her Order of Merlin. 

 

_“I can’t do this, Harry.”_

_“You have to, Hermione. Do you understand?”_

_A sharp tug on her arm and a grip on her hand._

_“Get your hands off me, Harry Potter!”_

_“He’ll leave us,” the broken voice stressed. “I can’t. I just-- Hermione, if you tell him-- if_ **_we_ ** _tell him, that’s it. He’s gone. He’ll be gone and he might not come back. I can’t. We can’t...”_

 

As much as she wanted to push the memory to the back of her mind, and banish the anger and pity and the disgust, she couldn’t. The memory had to be at the centre of her mind for the process to work, if she recalled. It didn’t surprise her how often people refused to share themselves with the Pensieve. After this endeavour, she was sure she wouldn’t ever touch it again. 

 

_“Please, Hermione.”_

_The moments in between lasted lifetimes. She recalled the cold and the desperation-- the thought that they pair of them were going to die in that tent. She knew she had signed up for this, dying with Harry, but the cold had sunk into her bones and it was clear that Ron was never coming back._

_She remembered her boys and how brave they were. They had survived a war and surely Ron wouldn’t leave them, not again. Harry had died and now he was here, he couldn’t leave them over a moment of pure insanity, could he?_

_The thought made her sick. She spied Harry- dirt covering his face and errant tears spotting his face. The Boy Who Lived. She recalled awkward hands and misplaced warmth amongst the makeshift bedsheets in the tent. Moments of pain masked by the smell of Harry around her and the sound of outright sobbing._

_Only one thought consumed her and even now, she felt sick knowing that she had just given up._

_We’re going to die._

_We’re going to die._

_She pictured Ron’s face and it turned into something disgusting. She saw visions of him, face snarled and her guilt consumed her even more. They had all been through enough._

_So, despite the pain and the guilt and the Gryffindor pride roaring inside of her, she simply agreed._

_“I have one condition.”_

 

She took one last look at the picture and shoved it back into its hiding spot. A wave of sickness overtook her as she gently stroked the spine of _Aramayus Dinkle’s Guide to Pensieves_. Every memory would soon come tumbling out of her mind into the pensieve so when Ron came back, every part of her soul was present for his inspection. 

She pulled the book from the shelf and flipped to her bookmarked page. According to the book, extracting memories took time, especially for beginners. The only way to have a successful extraction was to have the memory at the forefront of the mind. 

She wondered for a moment, just how much she should show Ron. 

 

_“We’re going to die,” she said into his shoulder, the music behind them forgotten. “I’m so sorry.”_

_Pain and awkwardness and misplaced warmth._

_A vision of Ron as the wrong set of hands steadied her heartbeat._

_Sickness and revulsion followed by guilt, guilt, guilt._

_“I love you Hermione, but-”_

_A hand to stop the words because she knew, they both did. What they had done was_ **_wrong_ ** _._

 

Hermione’s hands trembled as she raised her wand, certain that her decision was correct. This would make it right. 

 

_A rainy Tuesday. Spilled tea all over crisp parchment. Hands, hands everywhere. Harry’s hands holding a wand, whispering Obliviate. Incorrect wandwork. Harry’s hands steadying her, holding her as she cried, “what have I done?”_

_She pictured Ron’s hands moving down, down, down and cursed Harry James Potter._

 

Hermione blinked away another set of tears and gripped the book tighter. “This is going to work,” she whispered to her empty apartment. Without a reply, she raised her wand. 

 

o0o

Ron raised his wand for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He was in shape before but all this bloody lifting and carrying and pointing his wand into the sky like a git had made his time in Romania anything but a holiday. 

The air in Romania was clean and Ron was somewhat grateful for the distraction. He wasn’t sure whether Hermione would let him have his space at first, but she had backed right off after their Floo call days before. 

He found himself glad for the space but he still missed her. He found himself thinking about her at inopportune moments, like the way her toes curled into the bed just before falling asleep, making for equally enjoyable and painful sleep. 

He thought of a funny joke only hours before and found himself only with dragon turds for company. On the other hand, he had accidentally farted in front of Charlie which, rather than prompting a barrage of abuse, sparked a competition which he was proud to say he won. 

Right now, though, he missed the abuse. Charlie had set him to work in the hatchery this fine morning and he was really annoyed at the bloody array of different coloured pieces of dragon shit decorating the place. 

The hatchery was a huge place where the mothers could visit their young and consequently, leave a mess that someone, namely him, could clean up. The barn was huge which meant he had to be quick getting out if one of the dragons had the urge to visit. 

He had been pretty good so far although hunting dark wizards seemed more and more enjoyable every day. A loud noise interrupted his thoughts as Charlie’s owl, Mercury, announced himself and circled the air above Ron. 

Ron winced as he spotted the lettering on the envelope above him. The owl hooted and dropped it into Ron’s now outstretched hand. Hermione had let him be, but that much couldn’t be said for his mum. He had politely ignored every subsequent letter after he had told George to tell her to shove off but the letter in his hand felt warm, which meant one thing. 

Without delay, the letter sprung open. 

“ **RONALD WEASLEY”**! it shouted and Ron was grateful the mother dragons were on loan in Belgium. 

“Oi,” he protested. “Quiet! You want to get me murdered?”

“You’d better not start with me, young man! I demand you either Floo or send me a letter at once! Nobody tells me why you’re there or what you’re doing-- I haven’t seen Harry or Ginny or Hermione for over a week and I will not sit here in the dark!”

“Piss off,” Ron growled as he crossed his arms. 

“Don’t you dare,” the letter said, preempting his response. “I expect to hear from you soon with an explanation. And you tell your brother he is not helping by hiding you there from whatever it is you’re running from!” 

Not that it was possible, but he felt the letter glare at him and then it disposed of itself. Mercury hooted again and Ron glared at him. “Shut up you idiot. I’m not writing back. Can’t you see it’s a trap?” 

He didn’t respond. Instead, Ron heard a small sound from behind the left set of shelves holding the eggs. He looked at Mercury. “Eggs don’t make sounds, do they?” 

Silence. 

He heard it again. It was faint, but Ron definitely heard a breaking sound. His stomach dropped. “No fucking way,” he breathed as he dashed to the source of the noise. He dodged another pile of dragon shit and suddenly stopped in the middle of the walkway, turning to his right. 

Right before his eyes was a cracking dragon egg. “Shit. Fuck. Bloody hell, why me?” Ron whined to nobody and thoughts raced through his head. Should he get Charlie? Call for help? Run for it?

Something inside the egg moved and Ron swore again. Charlie hadn’t prepared him for this- he’d said the eggs weren’t due to hatch for at least another month. He remembered the conversation because it had something to do with the mother dragons and he had thought Charlie was barmy at the time. Dragons didn’t have maternal instincts, did they?

It seemed he was about to find out. Not twenty seconds after stopping, the top of the egg cracked and Ron held his breath. He pictured Norbert (or as it was, Norberta) and winced as he remembered the bloody thing nipping him. He recalled Hagrid being rather chuffed at the whole thing and wondered whether he should be singing it a bloody lullaby. 

A small head poked out of the egg and stared at Ron, letting out a tiny squeak as he broke free of the remaining shards of egg. Ron made it his business to try and stay away from dragons as a rule so he wasn’t sure of its species. 

However, one thing was very clear. The dragon didn’t look right at all. He inched closer and the small creature barely moved. “You alright?” Ron asked it, standing over it. 

As a child he could face the bloody Dark Lord himself but when it came to dragons or Merlin forbid, spiders, he nearly turned into a sodding baby. He wasn’t sure why, but instead of cowering or running, he extended his hand. 

Many scenarios ran through his mind-- his arm being burnt off, the dragon gnawing his fingers and yet, he didn’t retract. The dragon coughed and as Ron’s hands moved around the tiny creature, he noticed that half his wing was missing. 

The dragon barely made a noise as Ron scooped it up. It began to shiver and Ron acted instinctively, taking the slimy little thing and holding it close to his body warmth. He needed to get it to Charlie. 

And as Ron held the dragon close as he weaved past lumps of dragon waste amongst the rest of the dragon eggs, he figured that like everything, even the broken things were sometimes still worth saving. 

 


	9. Deus Ex Machina

Working with a pensieve was harder work than Hermione expected. The first few memories she had fully extracted seemed easy enough but as she pulled at more of her mind, it becoming far more taxing. 

She knew she had the opportunity to walk around in those memories but nothing would have disgusted her more. She had lived through those awful times not only once, but a second time when Harry’s spell had spectacularly backfired. 

The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced she had suffered spell-damage to her head during the Final Battle. Perhaps Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured the sanity right out of her because if she had been in the right state of mind, there would have been no way she would have agreed to Harry’s stupid suggestion. She would have walked right up to Ron, told him the truth and dealt with it then and there. 

She shook her head in self-contempt as she remembered the finality of asking Harry to just erase her memories altogether of the whole disgusting affair. He was good, the Boy Who Lived, but she should never have trusted him to carry out her own stupid conditions. 

She had been sitting at her desk, revelling in the blissful happiness of returning home to Ron after her draining day at work. As she reached for her half-full teacup, a  vision of Harry entered her mind and she had been avoiding it ever since. 

She had only two more memories to go and then this part of her plan would be complete. She was successfully honouring Ron’s request for space, although she was more than selfishly hoping he would return home soon. Many parts of Hermione Granger were selfish and she struggled to come to terms with the person she had become. 

Sleeping with Harry had been a selfish attempt to feel alive in the face of what she was sure was imminent death and lying to Ron and cowardly discarding her unpleasant memories had been selfish too. So no matter how much she wanted to crowd Ron and beg him not to leave her again, she was determined to be completely unselfish and let him be in control. 

She was unequivocally in his hands and if he allowed her, she would prove to Ron Weasley that he was her entire universe, for the rest of their lives. 

So with a renewed focus, she reached back into the darkest depths of her mind to extract, pull, coax and demand those memories she was so desperate to forget, to breathe into the deep waters of the pensieve and save her relationship with the man she loved. 

o0o

“Of course the bloody thing would hatch when you’re here,” Charlie moaned, motioning for Ron to deposit the small and still uncleaned baby dragon into his oven-mitt clad hands. Ron was reminded of Hagrid yet again as the little blighter squeaked as Charlie’s hands cradled it. 

Ron stared as Charlie shook his head and motioned for him to follow. Ron did as he was told and followed his brother into the small kitchen. “Fill up the sink and put about two cups of salt into it.”

Ron dutifully filled up the basin and watched with wide eyes as Charlie patted the baby dragon down. It yelped in protest and Ron winced, hoping the tiny thing wouldn’t sneeze the wrong way and burn Charlie’s house down. 

Luckily, it didn’t. With careful hands, Charlie placed it into the saltwater. A smile spread across Charlie’s face as he removed his now sopping wet oven mitts. “There you go, nice and warm for you.” The baby dragon made a squeaking noise in response and settled into the warm water. 

Charlie smacked Ron’s back, leaving a wet patch Ron really would have rather gone without. “Look at you! About five minutes later, and you would have been a mummy!” 

“Sod off,” Ron snapped, clearly still transfixed by the dragon. “It’s got a bloody mother and I’m not her...him.” 

“Reckon I could use a smoke after all that eh? She’ll be right in there for a bit,” Charlier reasoned and motioned for Ron to follow. Part of Ron was jealous of the absolute freedom Charlie had out here. He could do whatever he wanted out here-- smoke, drink and even shag without someone telling him what he could and couldn’t do. 

Even without living at the Burrow, he was under the ever watchful eye of his mum. Not to mention being friends with Hermione for all those years...she’d have his arse for even thinking about pinching a smoke from Charlie. 

But as it was, Hermione Granger was not here and neither was his mum. Ron extended his hand. “Oi, hand one over.” If Charlie was shocked, he didn’t show it-- he only shrugged. 

“You’re the boss mate.”

Some boss he was. He had run away from work where he was a boss to some of the new recruit. He had been told to sod off by his actual boss and Harry effing Potter was likely to be the _next_ boss. Hermione had called all the shots, even before her great fuck up so having even an lit cigarette in his mouth was the ultimate action of a man who should be his own boss. 

Charlie frowned. “Have you ever had one before?” 

Ron ignored his brother and attempted to take a drag, before his lungs exploded and he was coughing everywhere like a bloody pansy. Charlie snatched the offending object from his mouth and shook his head. “You’re an idiot.” 

Ron had nothing left to say as he watched Charlie finish his cigarette quietly, until the sound of Charlie’s Floo activating broke the two brothers from their silence. Ron frowned. “If it’s Mum, I’m going to tell her to shove off,” Ron vowed as Charlie put out his cigarette.

“You don’t have the stones for that, little brother!” Charlie exclaimed as he ushered Ron inside, taking a peek at the still happily bathing dragon. “I don’t even have the stones for that,” he added quietly, probably hoping it wasn’t Molly Weasley at the end of an international Floo call. 

Ron frowned when George’s face appeared in Charlie’s old, Romanian fireplace. “George? Blimey, what time is it over there?” Charlie asked, peering at the clock, set to Romanian time above his fireplace. 

“Early,” George supplied before turning his head to face Ron. “Ron, err--”

He looked at George curiously. “Yeah?” His brother took a long moment and it had been a while since Ron had heard George sound so serious. “George, where are you?”

“I’m at the shop but I’m about to head out to St Mungo’s. You’d better organise some portkeys home. Hermione was just admitted. She’s fine, as far as we can tell but still-” 

Ron felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room and the blood rushed from his face. An invisible hand reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. He barely registered Charlie talking to George and tried to focus on the feelings inside. What had happened to Hermione?

“We’ll leave now,” Charlie told George. “Just...hold down the fort yeah? That’s assuming..?” Charlie looked at Ron. 

“Don’t fucking finish that sentence,” Ron snapped as he grabbed his wallet and keys and shoved them into his pockets. “We’re going. And now.” 

 

o0o

As Ron and Charlie hurtled through the air from their last stop, Ron felt sick. He was still angry, of course, but none of that seemed to register with him at the moment. He landed with a _thud_ in front of George’s shop. Scrambling to his feet, he took off at a hurried pace, not bothering to wait for Charlie. He paced through the Leaky Cauldron, onto the busy Muggle streets. Ron vaguely heard Charlie trying to keep up with him as they attempted to weave through the Muggle pedestrians. Finally, Ron came face to face with Purge and Dowse and the faceless dummy. Before Ron could open his mouth to talk to the gatekeeper, it had raised its hand, pointing towards the window. Ron ran straight through. 

 

Ron nearly bowled over the Welcome Witch as he ran through the entrance to St. Mungo’s. Charlie wasn’t too far behind him. Both wired and exhausted from the journey, Ron couldn’t stop the adrenaline from pumping through him. George had said she was okay but other than that, he didn’t know anything. Sure, he wanted and _needed_ his space from Hermione but that didn’t mean he wanted to see her lying in a bloody hospital bed, with all this shit going on. He was uneasy about everything, and especially seeing her again in these circumstances. He knew she was alright, otherwise George would have fronted up to Romania, after all. 

“Now young man, what seems to....”

“Hermione Granger,” he said hurriedly, not even waiting for her to finish. 

“Now you listen here...”

“Hermione Granger!” he said again, feeling his face turn red. Charlie shook his head at the Welcome Witch. 

“Artefact Accidents,” she replied crisply, pointing down the hall. Ron took off with Charlie hot on his heels. Ron managed to weave through the throng of wizards and Healers and barely dodged a Mediwitch holding three vials of purple potion. 

“Honestly,” she muttered as Charlie rushed past her. 

Finally, towards the end of the hall, Ron caught sight of Weasley red hair. 

“George!” he called out, coming to a halt in front of the private room. He barely registered Ginny and his dad’s presence. “What the hell happened?” 

George put his hands on Ron’s shoulders. “She’s fine Ronniekins, calm down before they stick you in with Lockhart.”

Ron shook George’s arms off. “You already said that. But apart from a quick message to nearly give a bloke a heart attack, I don’t know anything else! Is she hurt?” 

George slung his arm around Ron and gently guided him to sit on the uncomfortable chairs. Ginny, still in her Harpies clothes, sat next to him and sighed.

“Romania?”

“Leave it Gin,” Charlie advised. 

“What the hell are you doing here anyway?” Ron grumbled. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” 

“Shove it, Ron,” Ginny replied sincerely. “George owled me and I just wanted to pop in and say hello. Y’know, see if she’s doing okay. People do that when someone’s in hospital. Even if they’re fine.” 

“Just fill the poor bloke in,” Charlie suggested as he sat next to Ginny. 

“Well it looks like the brightest witch of our age had a bit of a tiff with the old pensieve,” George started dramatically. “The pensieve won.”

This caused Ron’s ears to go red. “A pensieve? What the fuck...er, hell was she doing with a pensieve?” he wondered aloud. 

“Ron,” Ginny started quietly, avoiding George and Charlie’s curious faces. 

“Besides we don’t even own...”

A sickening thought struck him. “Whose pensieve was it?” he demanded. 

“It was probably Harry’s,” George said helpfully, looking very confused and then rather guilty when Ron shot him a murderous glance. 

“Harry effing Potter’s pensieve?” Ron roared. “I’ll kill him,” he seethed, balling his fists as his ears turned bright red. 

“Ah, Mr Weasley,” a voice interrupted. Ron looked up to see a grey-haired lime-clad wizard with a clipboard in his hands. “I’m Healer Loudfoot.”

Ron stood, briefly wondering why he hadn’t thought to steal some of Charlie’s clothes to change into because he felt positively disgusting after the long trip here. After everything, he was still worried how Hermione would react seeing him in less-than-desirable clothes. “How is she?” he asked, eyeballing the closed door to her private room. “Can we go in?”

“Miss Granger is fine,” the Healer announced happily. “She had quite a tumble with the pensieve but it looks like she’ll recover quite well, considering.”

“What exactly happened?” asked Ginny as she stood next to Ron. 

The Healer looked down at the clipboard. “It looks like she was trying to remove a memory when she somehow lost control and slipped, hitting her head quite hard on the object. There was a bit of blood but she responded quite well to the potions and she’s awake and talking-- rather loudly if I might add,, so we’re sure there’s no sign of brain damage.”

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Although it was a good thing Mr Potter found her when he did. We might’ve been having a different conversation altogether if he hadn’t popped over. Wonderful wizard, that Potter,” he beamed, extending his hand again. 

Ron ignored it. 

“Harry found her?” he asked quizzically. The Healer nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes, he’s in there with her right now, in fact!”

Ron remained silent. “Fucking brilliant,” Ron breathed. “Err, sorry,” he added. “Thanks.”

“Not any trouble at all. You can head on in now, son. She’s...not exactly thrilled to be staying overnight and she’s been giving the Mediwitches a bit of a hard time, I’m afraid. She’s convinced she’s fine and she ought to go home but I would advise against it at this stage.”

He fought to urge to think about Hermione screaming and throwing things at the hospital staff and gave himself a moment to just think. George had told him Hermione was okay when he Flooed Romania. Hermione was fine and he had still raced across the world to be with her. But where did that leave them? 

He looked back to his siblings and Ginny averted her eyes as the Healer moved to the next corridor. Ginny looked nervous as her eyes met Ron’s. “Harry’s here,” she said weakly.

“The Chosen One! Merlin’s beard, reckon I can get an autograph? Fuck off, Ginny!” Ron snapped as she flipped him the bird. 

He barely managed to contain his anger, the shock from being here in the hospital, thinking about how to approach the situation, overwhelming any other warring emotions inside of him. He was an Auror for Merlin’s sake and he had nearly beaten the shit out of Harry last time he had seen him. He wasn’t afraid of what was behind the door—he was more worried about how his murderous rage was going be contained with Harry in the same room as him. 

“Better go in,” Charlie said kindly, giving Ron a friendly push. 

“Over and done with,” Ginny suggested.

“Nobody’ll hear him scream,” George added, earning an elbow in the gut from Ginny. 

“Thanks Charlie. The rest of you, piss off,” Ron huffed and opened the door. 

 


	10. Expected

“Are you trying to insinuate that I’m not clever enough to check myself for concussion?”

Ron knew that tone of voice very well. Hermione’s way with words had a two-pronged effect. In a single breath she could either build you up or tear you down. She hadn’t torn him down in so long.

 

Until this. 

 

“Hermione, _nobody_ can check themselves for concussion.”

Ron stood at the door longer than was necessary. He didn’t want to announce himself. He was still thinking of how many ways he could beat the everlasting crap out of his former best mate. 

“You had a serious head wound. You should be staying another night.”

“The Healers said I’m fine! Are you a complete imbecile, Harry? Would you like me to owl Flourish and Blotts and have them deliver a dictionary to you? Stop being absurd, I had a knock on the head, they patched me up and _I’m going home!_ ”

“You’re barking!” 

“Merlin’s beard, Harry! Why don’t you just...fuck off!”

There was silence. Ron couldn’t deny that he was impressed, even for a moment. Now was as good a time as ever. In true cliché style, he cleared his throat, introducing himself into the most awkward and fucked up situation ever. 

Two pairs of eyes rested on him. Hermione’s lit up. Harry’s tore away. “You heard the lady. I believe Hermione Granger just told you to sod off.”

“Fuck off,” Hermione added. “I told him to _fuck off_.”

Despite himself, a smirk appeared on his lips. Harry looked between them. “Ron, I--”

“I don’t particularly want to hear whatever bullshit you’re selling. I appreciate you finding her and bringing her in but right now, you need to leave.”

Hermione raised her hands in triumph and after a lengthy look of appreciation at Ron, returned to packing her bag by hand. 

“Fine,” he resigned. “I’m glad you’re alright.” 

Ron glared at him as Hermione continued to look down at her bag, furiously shoving in clothes that had probably been packed away in the small closet in the room. After Harry left, the room seemed to close in on them. 

“I’m really fine,” Hermione insisted, breaking the painful silence. “I don’t need to stay here overnight. I hit my head is all, I tripped you see.”

Ron wasn’t sure what to say. He kind of felt like hugging her, shagging her and screaming at her all at once. He really hoped that Harry had told everyone to go home- the last thing he needed was an audience listening in to him and Hermione.

Whichever way it went. He wasn’t so sure yet. 

He thought about hugging her. Hugging would be safe, right? He did miss her, after all. And he was grateful to Merlin that her injury wasn’t more serious than he initially thought. He felt like a bit of a plum really, racing all the way back from Romania, just to see her standing there. 

Ron took a deep breath and cleared the distance between him and Hermione in a few steps. A small noise came out of her mouth and then, she was in his arms. His anger has softened slightly, as if it had sunk into a layer beneath his skin. It was equally wonderful and terrifying hugging Hermione.

One thing was certain, though. She still felt like home. It would have been easy to just bury his head in her hair, as wild as ever, and forget that it the whole thing had ever happened but that would be as cowardly as running from them all those years ago. 

He loved her and, if he was being honest, was probably half way to forgiving her anyway, especially after those tortuous few moments when he thought something serious had happened to her. 

As much as he bloody wished it away, a difficult conversation was on the horizon. He felt guilty about thinking about it right when her small frame was pressed into him. His hands had circled around her back and Hermione seemed to melt into him. 

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he answered honestly. “You scared me shitless.”

He nearly expected her to berate him for the language but she just pulled out of his hug and wiped the tears from her face with her thumb. “I didn’t mean to,” she assured him. “I didn’t want this for you- to have to race back for no good reason. Especially before you were ready. I promised I’d give you space and I feel positively awful for this.”

“I appreciate that, Hermione. But you’re barking if you think I’d have stayed in Romania,” he said, a little more forcefully than he had intended. “I didn’t leave you,” he added quietly, unsure of where to look around the room. 

She squeezed his hand. “I know.”

So where were they going from here? “I don’t think I want to do this-” he motioned between them, “here. If you’re sure you’re up for it, let’s go home.”

Home. 

Home sure as hell wasn’t Romania. Home used to be Hermione. 

He was about to find out if it still was. 

o0o

It had taken a half hour to officially sign Hermione out of St. Mungo’s. One of his brothers had told the rest to clear out so they didn’t have a committee waiting for them when they left. 

Hermione had surprisingly behaved herself while the Healer gave Ron very strict instructions for her care for the next 24 hours. She had lasted a full three seconds after the Healer left before rolling her eyes and muttering an “honestly!” under her breath. Ron fought the urge to remind her that she was the one who had landed herself in there in the first place, which was a considerable measure of his restraint. 

He wondered whether this was going to be their world from now on- unable to leave each other because _bloody hell, they were still in love_ \- but unwilling to break the fragile peace that existed between them. 

Once they were cleared to leave, the Floor deposited them straight into their flat. There was an eerie quality about it now and Ron looked around the room as if he was walking into a crime scene. 

He had confronted her in this room. Her teacup had fallen. Hermione fucked Harry and lied about it and while he was only fucking angry and not _fucking livid_ anymore, it all came back to that, didn’t it? 

“I’m sorry it’s a mess.”

Ron wasn’t sure on the specific mess she was referring to. “S’alright,” he managed to get out as he surveyed the damage. The pensieve was in the living room right next to their sofa. He could see the spill on the floor and he cringed as he spotted blood on the rim. 

“The brightest witch of our age taken down by a rogue pensieve,” Ron tried to joke as he sat down on the sofa. “Better not let Skeeter get the exclusive.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “That vile excuse for a woman can rot in hell for all I care,” she snapped and joined Ron. “The right cow was sniffing around the flat earlier.”

Ron recalled the way she had practically stalked him days ago. He hadn’t slept in what felt like bloody ages but the adrenaline was pumping. He still wasn’t sure what he wanted, so he was bloody hoping Hermione wasn’t going to ask. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes. There was loads to say but neither of them seemed to want to even start. Dread pooled in his stomach. 

“Hermione-”

“I can’t do this,” she interrupted, a hint of hysteria touching her voice. “If you’re going to say that this is over. I tried to give you space and-”

“I know you did,” Ron replied. “But to be honest, Hermione, I’ve got no bloody clue if I’m going to say this is over or not!”

Hermione reacted as if she’d been physically hit. He groaned. “I don’t know how I bloody feel,” he continued, knowing he could possibly either lose his nerve or start yelling at the flick of a quill. “Romania helped, but I was just putting my problems- _our_ problems- on hold. Fact is that not only did you shag Harry, you lied to me about it. For years!”

Her voice was small. “I know. And there is nothing I can ever do to take that away, except continue to feel horrible!”

“Yeah well, imagine I feel!” Ron snapped, standing. Everything was coming back to him. “I fucking left you in those woods! Pushed you right into his bed!”

Hermione stood quietly, unsure of whether Ron was saying things to hurt her or to take the blame on himself. “You should have told me,” he said loudly. “But you were a coward. And instead of telling me about it and letting me fucking deal with it back then, you just lied to my face. The fucking pair of you!”

“I wanted to tell you, Harry-”

He pointed at you. “You can’t blame this all on Harry. And on that matter, if I never have to hear the name HARRY POTTER again I’ll be bloody content!”

She sighed audibly. “Fine. _I let Harry_ convince me that this was a good idea. For the record, which I knew it wasn’t. We had just fought the battle and I was tired and scared and...” She gestured to the pensieve. “Do you know why I slipped and fell, Ron? I’ve been collecting memories. Every memory I have, every moment, every feeling has been bottled. I am doing what I should have done from the start.”

She summoned a pile of vials that nestled into her outstretched hands. Ron felt sick just looking at them. “Why the hell would I want those?” he raged. “If what I think is in there, why in my right mind would I ever, **ever** want to see that?”

She shook her head. “You don’t. But that wasn’t the point, Ron.” She placed him in his hands and he fought the urge to smash them against the wall. “I don’t care if you watch them. In fact, the whole point of not telling you was so you never would even have to know about it. What I did-” She paused. “It makes me sick.

He looked down at them. 

“Not just... but everything. After I swore not to tell you, I made him take them from me. But Harry isn’t as clever as he pretends to be. He couldn’t even do that properly.”

Hermione was crying now. “I know I forgave you. You came back. But all those weeks, Ron. And we thought we were going to die.  You were gone.  We were getting nowhere with the Horcruxes and we were absolutely miserable. I would cry myself to sleep most nights, thinking about you. And so it happened. And it was awful and horrid and I cried and cried, thinking about you.

“And then you came back and we fought a war, Ron. I never thought we would ever survive, but we did. And e thought that if you knew, you’d go and we would never see you again.”

Ron took a step back away from Hermione. Everything he had done had come slamming back into him like a ton of bricks. Every bad feeling, every regret from that one moment. 

“You didn’t trust me,” he whispered as she attempted to rub the tears from her eyes. “You thought that after I’d- we’d...- I’d up and leave you.”

“It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” she answered honestly. “You’re the love of my life and the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. And for the rest of my life, I’ll only ever try to make it up to you.”

He had no words, only the feeling of dead weight floating around his stomach. Nothing made sense any more. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he found himself shouting at her. She looked taken aback. “I- I don’t want that.” He moved his hand awkwardly through his hair. He thought about dragons and Romania and punching Harry and fucking Hermione. 

He thought about days, sitting alone in the Burrow and nights filled with long emptiness. He thought about marrying Hermione and dancing with her under the lights at the Burrow. He thought about staring at her and seeing Harry’s hands all over her. 

“I don’t want _this_ either,” he whispered. “This bullshit between us. I fucked up and, whether you meant it or not, you bloody _punished_ me.” 

She stared at him incredulously. “So, that’s it then? You’re just...done?”

He groaned. “ _I don’t bloody want that_! But, even with you hurting yourself, and believe me, I am thanking Merlin that you are okay, coming back was too soon. I love  you but I still need time to figure this out.” He looked into her eyes, because he owed her that. “I’m moving out.”

Time stopped and Ron felt sick, like a thousand newts were clawing at his insides. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so final. Hermione looked about as heartbroken as he felt, but as soon as he had said it, it felt right. 

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle cries, Ron assumed. He knew the way she cried, the way she grieved. 

“I’m going to move out,” Ron started, fearing his voice would break. “I’ll go back home, with Mum and Dad. Until we can sort this bullshit out.”

And there it was. A small glimmer of hope, like a snitch gloating along the horizon. He knew Hermione caught it, because despite her hunched appearance and desperate expressions, she nodded softly. 

“We can get some help,” she whispered and sat back onto the sofa, curling her legs underneath her. “I’ve been reading. I mean, that is if you still want...” she paused, “us. I mean, I guess you said that you still love me and I love you and I want to fix this.”

She looked directly at him. “Please let us fix this.”

It was then Ron noticed that, despite his tough Auror reputation, tears were leaking out of his eyes too. He lowered himself onto the sofa and his hand slipped perfectly into Hermione’s. “I want to fix this.”

There was a silence for a solid five minutes, neither wanting to move and start the inevitable. He wondered if Hermione would rearrange the flat in his absence or whether he truly would ever return here. 

“Are we going to be okay?” 

She finally raised her head and looked at him, hope in her eyes. “We’re going to try,” he confirmed. And he actually meant it. He loved her with every fibre of his being. Without her, there was nothing. 

“And Harry?” she asked hesitantly, not looking away. Ron wondered when she would bring him up. Hermione’s betrayal had stung and despite her confession of equal guilt, part of him was still more than happy to heap the blame on him. 

Harry effing Potter. The Boy Who Shagged. Could Ron forgive him? He had forgiven Hermione readily enough. If it were Harry who’d had the accident, would Ron have raced back and pushed him along a little? He wasn’t so sure. He, Harry and Hermione had faced the world together. Perhaps one day they could piece themselves back together. 

But for now, Ron could only be honest.

“Not today.”

 


End file.
